


The Prince and the Servant

by femmefatales, thatsayouproblem



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Bigotry & Prejudice, Bottom Draco, Cinderella AU, Class Differences, Companionable Snark, Dark Fairy Tale Elements, Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Angst, Forbidden Love, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, Gay Sex, Hand Jobs, Idiots in Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Male Cinderella, Mutual Pining, Noble Draco, Pining Draco Malfoy, Pining Harry, Porn With Plot, Secret Identity, Servant Harry, Sexual Tension, Slow Build, Verbal Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-03-06
Packaged: 2018-09-15 02:13:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 33,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9214439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/femmefatales/pseuds/femmefatales, https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatsayouproblem/pseuds/thatsayouproblem
Summary: Harry Potter, an orphaned servant with repressed magic living with his cruel step-family, literally crashes into the prince of his kingdom, Draco Malfoy. Little does he know that this stuck-up, filthy-rich pansy will forever change his miserable life.Drarry Cinderella AU.Now complete!





	1. Chapter I: A Collision with a Snob

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, beautiful readers!! Thank you for taking the time to click on this fanfiction. A lot of hard work was put into it, so seriously, THANK YOU!!   
> Hope you enjoy the ride~   
> Love, femmefatales

Harry couldn’t remember much about the day his parents died. He had been eight years old. He remembered the rain, and the way it felt like the world was ending. He remembered how the fresh dirt on his parent’s graves felt rough against his palms after he had collapsed in front of their headstones. The rest was a haze of tears, beginning with Uncle Vernon’s smarmy smile and too tight grip as he lead him to the carriage, and ending with the feeling of his magic shriveling up inside of him and dying. Eventually, his magic trickled back, as time made pain fade, but it was a shadow of what it was these days; Harry could barely summon a flash of fire to warm himself as he slept on the cold floor of the Dursley’s kitchen.

Harry awoke to the frantic ringing of bells chiming from where they had been mounted on the stone wall of the chilly kitchen. The bell labeled Dudley’s Room, in flowing script, rung, shaking wildly.

"Alright, alright. I’m awake.” Harry said, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. The bell continued to chime as Harry sat up and dragged himself out of bed. “I’m coming!”

Harry quickly threw on a pair of clean robes and bolted up the stairs to his stepbrother’s room. He knocked on the door a few times, trying and failing to tune out the obnoxious orders being shouted at him from all different directions. Sometimes Harry felt as if these people forgot that he barely possessed the ability to use magic. Well, unless that fact was being used to belittle him. Harry had been called every bad name in the book by his step family: Squib, muggle, and even a mudblood despite the fact that he was none of the above.

 

“Potter! I’m hungry,” Dudley barked at Harry from where he was surrounded by silk comforters and plush pillows. “Fetch me something to eat.” Dudley paused. “Also, I will to be visiting the emporium with father in an hour. While I’m gone, I want you to clean up this mess,” He gestured with a pudgy hand glittering with rings at the mess of toys, books, and clothes that completely covered every inch of Dudley's tacky, purple carpet.

Harry gave Dudley a grudging grunt of assent before stalking back to his room. He loathed Dudley and Uncle Vernon, absolutely abhorred them with every fiber of his being. Harry longed to be free of his servitude; but if he stepped even one toe out of line Vernon would cast him out to live on the streets. And then where would he be? He was worse than a muggleborn, even worse than a squib or muggle; he was a wizard who had lost his magic. A disgrace. The criminals and highwaymen living on the street would eat him alive. Before returning to the kitchen, Harry stopped by Uncle Vernon’s room.

“Yes, Uncle?” Harry asked, staring into the darkened room. He could see the faint outlines of the lush tapestries hanging on the walls and the lump that was Uncle Vernon’s body lying among the many satin blankets atop the large, mahogany, four-poster bed.

“Breakfast, boy! And be snappy about it,” The lump responded, and Harry quickly backed out of the room and into the bright hallway. His soft footfalls on the carpeted floors of the manor made his creaking steps down the wooden stairs leading to the kitchen sound even louder. He shivered in the frigid air and rushed to light the fire before beginning Vernon’s and Dudley’s breakfast.

As Harry threw some wood into the fire and began cooking what would be a very mediocre breakfast (just because he was a servant didn’t mean he had to be a very good one) he imagined what his life might have become if he hadn’t lost his magic. Would he have been respected by Vernon and Dudley? Probably not. But maybe he wouldn’t be stuck sweeping the floors and cleaning up after his pig of a stepbrother. Perhaps he would have made something of himself--Maybe he’d even be training to become an auror.

Harry shook his head in an attempt to snap himself out of it. Whether he liked it or not this was his life, and there was little he could do other than grin and bear it. The only activity Harry sometimes looked forward to these days was his daily trip to the marketplace. He lived in a large city and most people knew little of his lack of magic, earning him the treatment of an actual human being. On days where there was little shopping to be done, Harry would pace around the city and savor the blissful feeling of freedom. Maybe today, if he was lucky, he could clean the war zone that was Dudley’s room in time for him to make his run to the market. However cleaning it would be a nearly impossible feat in itself; he didn’t know if he could survive it. Some of the stuff strewn on the floor, Harry had observed, were definite health hazards, such as those pretzels that grown several strange, green, furry masses. Harry shivered in disgust while scooping the burnt, misshapen eggs onto the fine china plates that his stepfamily insisted on using. After placing them on a serving platter with two cups of lukewarm tea, Harry began his ascent. First he dropped off Vernon’s plate, leaving it on the nightstand with only a fat hand leaden with jewels waving him away as acknowledgement. He dropped the remaining platter on Dudley’s lap, giving Dudley, who had nodded off, a rude awakening.

“Oi, Potter, watch it or I’ll have father make sure there’s no wood for the fire in the kitchen for the rest of the week.”

“There’s one problem with that, Dudley, since I wouldn’t have anywhere to cook your meals,” Harry said, crossing his arms in annoyance.

“Then you wouldn’t have food either, Potter. You wouldn’t even be able to eat our leftovers.” Dudley responded, his beady eyes narrowing.

“Fair enough.” Harry responded, “ Hopefully, then I would die of starvation and even that would be better than living with you.” Dudley sputtered. Giving Harry a dark glare, he started shoveling the eggs into his mouth. _Good lord, how is he eating that without throwing up?_ Harry thought as the blackened bits of egg quickly disappeared into Dudley’s mouth. He felt mildly ill.

Moments after Dudley polished off the remainder of his eggs, Harry yanked the plate out of his chubby hands and practically bolted out of the bedroom. He peered into Uncle Vernon’s bed chambers, only to observe that the plate of breakfast had been left untouched; Harry quietly shut the door.

Harry adjusted the bandanna on his forehead, trying to keep as many stray black hairs out of his face as possible. He struggled but to no avail; he could not tame his ever-present bed head. Sighing, he returned back to the gargantuan task of cleaning Dudley’s room. He was about halfway through after spending four endless hours on it yesterday. On the left side of the room, Harry could now see the ornate purple carpet lining the floor, although it had a few stains that Harry had not been able to get out. The other half of the room was still trash hell. Piles of rubbish, dirty clothes, broken toys, and half-read books lined the floor. Trying to breathe through his mouth to avoid the pungent odors coming from the piles of mess, Harry grimly set himself to work.  
~  
After hours of drudgery, Harry finally finished the odious task. He had done a surprisingly decent job of it--Harry thought for a moment that maybe he should pursue a career in housekeeping. He shuddered at the mere prospect of it. 

Although his mood had been dampened by Dudley’s recurring insults and foul attitude, Harry still felt mildly excited for his hour-long escape to the marketplace. After notifying a half-asleep and most likely drunk Uncle Vernon and receiving a grunt as a response, Harry set off on his way.

He breathed a sigh of relief as he walked the streets of his kingdom, appreciating the fresh air and the familiar, bustling sounds of the people. He waved to Neville Longbottom, the clumsy son of a fisherman, but continued walking. The two would usually make pleasant, mildly awkward conversation for a few moments but Harry was in no mood for small talk today.

Harry stopped at the shop of every familiar merchant he knew to be trustworthy (he only possessed a small amount of cash and would not allow himself to be gypped) and purchased what was needed as quickly as possible. This granted him more time to roam freely. His bags were exceedingly heavy today, however, since he was carrying an extra load of laundry (courtesy of Dudley’s floor) so Harry decided that he would head home sooner than usual in fear of losing both of his arms. The thought of returning home so quickly had Harry feeling even more bitter than before, so naturally when he bumped head-on into a scrawny, blonde rich guy he didn’t think twice before shouting angrily at him.

“Watch where you’re going, arsehole!” Harry bellowed while staring angrily into the wide, gray eyes of his assailant.

“Excuse me?” The blonde man asked, looking stunned.

“I said: Watch. Where. You’re. Going. Arsehole.”

“You…,” The man’s eyes shifted from shocked to angry in an instant. “Do you know who I am?!”

Harry snorted and gave Blondie a once-over. He was lanky, dressed in white robes and shiny black shoes. Judging by his golden jewelry and silk cloak, this guy was probably the farthest thing from poor. Harry, if not for being completely disgusted by this pretentious dick, would have called him handsome. His cheekbones sat high on his pale face, accenting his thin nose and sunken, stormy eyes.

“What, you think you’re better than me because you’re rich?” Harry scoffed. “Get out of my way, I have places to be.”

“How dare you!” Blondie sneered, refusing to budge from his place in front of Harry.

“How dare I? Who do you think you are? The Prince?” Harry crossed his arms.

“Why, I-I _am_ the Prince, thank you very much!” Blondie said, huffing indignantly.

"Yes, and I’m Head Auror,” Harry responded. “Did our earlier impact damage your brain?”

“Why- the nerve-”

“Yeah, yeah, Okay, Blondie, if you’re going stand here and make a scene will you at least help me carry these bags of laundry to the river?” Harry hefted a large laundry bag into the other boy’s arms. The blonde looked aghast and mildly horrified; he shifted and gingerly held the bag as far away from him as possible.

“Fine,” He grumbled. “I’ll help. And for the record my name is Draco, not ‘Blondie.’”

"I’m Harry. Harry Potter. Well, come on then.” The raven-haired boy responded without looking back. They walked in silence down the well-trodden path leading through the forest and to the river.

"What exactly is in this bag?” Draco said, wrinkling his nose in disgust, “It smells absolutely revolting.”

Harry laughed. “ My step-brother’s laundry.”

“What the hell are you doing with your step-brother’s laundry?”

“I’m washing it? That’s what you do with laundry? I know you’re a noble and all but do you not know what laundry is-”

“I know what laundry is,” Draco snapped. “I was just wondering what you were doing with it. It’s servant work.” Harry turned around to give Draco a deadpan look.

"In case you haven’t noticed, Mr. I’m-the-Prince,” Harry chuckled at the sheer hilarity of the idea, “I am a servant.”

Draco’s mouth opened and closed a few times, wordlessly. Perhaps, Harry thought, Draco had no idea how to respond to this ingrate, this lowborn degenerate that was himself. With his mouth hanging open stupidly like that, Harry thought Draco looked sort of like a fish. A rather dashing fish. But regardless of how dashing, this Draco boy was still a pointy, foul-tempered fish.

~

Upon reaching the river bank, Harry sighed with relief as he set his many bags down. He watched in amusement as Draco struggled with his small load, almost tipping the entire thing over in an attempt to set it down.

“You need some help there?” Harry asked, snickering. Draco glared at him and Harry couldn’t help but laugh. “Very intimidating. Thanks for this, by the way.”

Draco huffed and stood up, brushing off his now-soiled white pants. “Shut your mouth, Peter, or whatever your name is. If you keep disrespecting me like this my father will hear about it.”

Harry’s eyes widened in mock-fear. “Your father? Oh, Merlin, anything but that. And it’s Potter.”

Draco’s pale cheeks reddened in fury and Harry noticed him clenching his fists. “I’ll have you know that my father is a very influential man. He’ll have you arrested in a heartbeat.”

“Arrested? For what? Talking back to his snob of a son who can’t even handle an insult?”

“You--Shut up!” Draco spat, face continuing to redden. Harry huffed out a laugh.

"Not used to being put in your place, are you?” Harry asked, beginning to speak once again before allowing Draco to respond. “Are you going to help me or not? Because if you aren’t I don’t see the point of your hanging around.”

“I shouldn’t be wasting my time with a lowlife like you,” Draco said. “But I suppose I’ll do it for the experience.”

“Wonderful,” Harry said, chucking a dirty and particularly smelly shirt at Draco. “Now wash.”

Draco wrinkled his nose and tentatively dipped the shirt in the river, sloshing it around awkwardly for a few moments before pulling it back out and placing it on the ground. Harry raised his eyebrows, feeling somewhere between amused and bewildered as to how anyone could be so incredibly useless. Well, Harry shrugged to himself as he observed Draco's clumsy movements. I suppose some help is better than none.

“That’s not--You can’t put it back in the dirt after you wash it. You’ve never done this before, have you?” Harry asked, deciding that maybe he should try to be a little more patient. He was making a rich nobleman wash clothes, after all.

“No. I haven’t. This type of...chore isn’t for someone of my status,” Draco said, picking up the muddy shirt and dipping it in the river once again.  
"Hell knows why I’m even here.”

“For the experience. Isn’t that what you said?”

“You’re lucky I’m even taking the time to speak to you, Potter.”

Harry snorted. “Hey, you got my name right this time! Excellent. But yeah, alright. Because conversing with you is _such_ a pleasure.”

Draco ignored Harry’s remark and avoided his eyes, placing the shirt in an empty basket and grabbing a pair of Vernon’s trousers. The two sat in silence for a few minutes, washing clothes and virtually ignoring the other’s presence.

“Can I ask you a question?” Harry asked before he could stop himself. Draco looked up from his laundry and met Harry’s eyes, raising an eyebrow.

“I suppose.”

“What’s it like?” Harry asked. “You know, living a life like yours.”

Draco stared at Harry for a moment. “It’s...alright.”

“That’s it?” Harry asked. “Just ‘alright’?”

Draco shrugged. Harry was about to question further when Draco lost his footing and fell onto the basket of dirty clothes dumping the basket’s contents and Draco into the river.

“Oh shit,” Harry yelled, “Oh shit oh shit oh shit.” He yanked off his shirt, and dove into the river. He quickly retrieved most of the clothes. Although a few garments got away, he doubted Dudley would even notice what with his copious amount of ornamental rags. Harry sat down on the riverside, closing his eyes and basking in the sun in an attempt to warm his shivering muscles.

“Next time try not to be so damn clumsy, Draco.” Harry admonished. When there was no response Harry opened his eyes. “Draco?” “Draco!!!” He called, realizing that his new, pissy acquaintance was no longer present. He spotted Draco floundering in the middle of the river desperately, trying in vain to keep his head above water. Harry watched as Draco’s head dropped like a rock beneath the surface. Frantic with worry, Harry once again dove back into the river to save Draco. He grabbed hold of the blonde's heavy, now-still limbs and dragged his body slowly to the shore. Bending over, Harry tried to pump as much water out of the other boy’s lungs as possible, but when he still refused to wake, Harry resignedly mumbled, “I guess I’m gonna have to do it.”

Harry pulled open Draco’s mouth intent on giving him CPR, but then the blonde spluttered.

“What the- What the bloody hell?! Are you trying to kiss me Potter? This is sexual harassment, my father will be hearing about this!” Draco shrieked, his voice going up a couple octaves.

“NO-no-no, I definitely was not trying to kiss you, why would I even want to?!” Harry said, turning beet red, “I was trying to give you CPR since you neglected to mention that your noble arse can’t swim.”

“You ponce. I can most definitely swim.” Draco said.

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Is that what they’re calling swimming nowadays. Sorry, but that looked more like drowning to me.”

“Fuck off, servant.”

“I saved your life, dumbass.”

“I would have been fine on my own,” Draco said, cheeks tinged with pink as his eyes flitted over Harry’s shirtless form. “Didn’t you say you had places to be?”

“Oh, shit,” Harry said, realizing that it was probably high noon by now. “I do. And I’m going to be late because of you.”

“Because of me?! You’re the one who invited me along in the first place!” Draco howled, shooting Harry a cold stare.

“Well I wouldn’t have if I’d’ve known you’d dump the goddamn laundry into the river and then have a near-death experience!” Harry said, quickly gathering up all the bags and shoving one of the lighter ones at Draco. “Make yourself useful and carry this back with me. It’s the least you can do.”

Draco grumbled in protest but did not object, following Harry down the path once again. The two walked in silence for a moment. Harry kicked a rock and watched it tumble down the road.

“You know, you really should learn how to swim,” Harry said, looking at a sopping wet Draco. His blonde hair was matted to his face from the dampness and his white undershirt was clinging to his thin (but toned, Harry couldn’t help but notice) body.

“I can swim.”

“Sure you can. One day you’ll be drowning and I won’t be there to save you and you’ll get yourself killed.”

“For the fiftieth time today, lowly servant: Shut. Up.”

Harry laughed, tipping his head back and appreciating the warmth of the sunlight on his wet skin. Yes, Draco was a pretentious, snobby arsehole but there was something about him that Harry couldn’t help but find slightly charming.


	2. Chapter II: Lucius the King and Draco the Merciful

The brief trek back to Harry’s place consisted of somewhat awkward silence and occasional bickering. Once the two arrived, Harry grabbed the spare key from under the doormat and let the two of them inside only to be greeted by an immediate:

“POTTER!”

Harry gulped and tentatively entered his home, shooting Draco another glare. He was screwed.

“Er, yes?” Harry asked, trying and failing to keep the fear out of his voice.

“You’re late, you useless lump of a boy,” Bellowed Uncle Vernon as he stomped down the wooden staircase.

“Sorry about that. I, uh, had a situation,” Harry said, nodding at Draco. Vernon didn’t appear to have even noticed the gesture or Draco’s existence, however. His chubby face was morphing into an ugly shade of angry, purplish-red and his beady eyes were glued upon Harry.

“You useless, good-for-nothing Squib,” Vernon said through his teeth, continuing to stomp down the stairs. “Dudley and I have been expecting lunch for the past hour. Can’t you do anything right?!”

Harry felt his ears burning with embarrassment. Normally he could take Vernon’s insults without a problem but today he had a guest. A guest who just so happened to be a wealthy noble. Harry shuddered.

“I’ll get right on that,” Harry said, turning around and walking quickly towards the kitchen. Perhaps he had gotten away?

“Not so fast, Boy,” Vernon growled. He had finally dragged his enormous body down the stairs and was now mere inches away from Harry, who could see the small hairs growing out of his pig-like nose. Harry swirled around, swallowing.

“Yes, Uncle Vernon?”

Vernon grabbed the hem of Harry’s shirt. “No dinner for a week,” He said, spit flying onto Harry’s face with every word. “And until you make up for this you’ll be sleeping outside.”  
The blood drained from Harry’s face at the thought. It was still autumn and the weather, although mild during the afternoon, often became painfully chilly in the evenings.

“Yes, Sir,” Harry mumbled.

“And who is this? A Muggle friend of yours?” Vernon asked, eyeing Draco with distaste. Draco, who had been staring wide-eyed at the scene unfolding in front of him, seemed to snap back to reality.

“Excuse me?” Draco asked, light eyebrows furrowing angrily on his pale forehead. “How dare you call me a Muggle. I’ll have you know that I was born into the utmost nobility, from the purest of bloodlines--”

“Oh, dear,” Vernon said quietly, eyes widening as they scanned over Draco’s partially dry, expensive clothing. “My deepest, most sincere apologies. Please, do make yourself at home.”

“I’d rather not,” Draco said in a monotone voice, shooting Vernon an icy stare.

All of the blood drained from Vernon’s face. “N-No, Good Sir. Please, do take a seat. Harry will cook something up for you in a moment, isn’t that right, Harry?”

“Er, alright,” Harry muttered, avoiding Draco’s eyes. God, this was humiliating.

“That won’t be necessary,” Draco said, holding up an elegant, thin hand. “I do, however, have a suggestion.”

“A-Anything, Good Sir. I’m sure your advice would be of much help to us,” Vernon said, looking up at Draco hopefully. Harry repressed the urge to scoff at Vernon’s obvious, desperate thirst for money.

“You wouldn’t want to impair your servant, would you? If you have him sleep outside and fail to feed him, his quality of work will decline. What if he falls ill and can no longer cook your meals? My family, unfortunately, has learned this the hard way. If you want to punish him, perhaps you should increase his workload.”

Vernon looked as though he was actually considering this idea, forehead wrinkling in thought, and Harry felt a flicker of hope.  
“Alright,” Vernon said, smiling wickedly at Draco. “That’s a wonderful idea. Thank you, Sir.”

Draco waved a dismissive hand.

“Harry,” Vernon snapped, “Show our esteemed guest out.”

Harry led Draco back out through the oaken front door and down the tree-lined walkway leading back down to the road.

“Uh, sorry about that,” Harry said, his eyes cast downward in shame.

“Is that how they treat you all the time?” Draco asked.

“Usually.”

“I see,” Draco murmured darkly, “I’ll report them to my father-”

“No, no, you can’t,” Harry interrupted, “if you get my uncle arrested I’ll have nowhere to go.”

“I suppose,” Draco said, looking miffed. Draco fingered a still-damp ornately embroidered sleeve.

“Don’t you treat your servants like dog shit too? Thought that was a noble thing. Not that you can even call my uncle a noble.” 

Draco snarled, clearly insulted by the accusation. “Of course not! Servants may be inferior, but we aren’t savages. We don’t _starve_ them. My father kicks them around a bit, but that's only when they deserve it. What I said was true, you know. Servants must be fed in order to work.”  
Harry was quiet for a moment. “Hmm. That’s good, I suppose.”

Silence, once again. 

“You should to teach me to swim,” he said abruptly.

“Really, I thought you said that you could already?” Harry said, giving Draco a shit-eating grin.

“And I thought you said that I couldn’t,” Draco said, shooting Harry a pointed glare. A faint, embarrassed blush dusting his pale cheeks.

“Fine, I’ll teach you. It’s something to do other than laundry. You can meet me by the river. I do the laundry at noon there every Monday, Tuesday and Sunday.”

“Really? You’ll do it?” Draco asked, grey eyes flickering with something Harry might have labeled as eagerness. Harry smirked.

“You seem pretty excited about that idea for someone who can already swim,” He said.

Draco flushed, deeper now, and scoffed, kicking a rock with his left foot. “Excited? Hah. The day I’ll be excited to spend more time with a petty servant such as yourself will be the day pigs fly.”  
Harry raised his eyebrows.

“Oh? Why don’t you just ask your extremely important father to teach you?”

“I--He doesn’t have time for trifling matters such as these.”

“I’m not surprised. Bet he can’t swim either,” Before Draco could blow up, however, Harry continued. “Dunno if I’ll make a very good teacher but I suppose it’s worth a try.”

Draco was quiet, and then something like a very repressed, very twisted smile momentarily graced his lips. “Wonderful. Perhaps you’ll learn proper manners from spending time with me.”

“Sure, sure. Your manners are just astounding, Prince Malfoy. Do you need me to walk you home? It’s getting dark and bandits tend to come out at this time of night. Not that you would know,” Harry mumbled, avoiding Draco’s cool stare.

“No!” Draco yelled rather loudly. Harry raised an eyebrow and looked at him strangely. Draco cleared his throat. “I mean, er, no. I think I can handle walking home by myself, thanks.”

“Uh, alright then. You sure?”

“Yes, Potter, I’m sure. Now kindly leave me alone and I’ll see you next week for my lesson.”

Harry scoffed and turned around, beginning to walk back to the Dursley’s.

“Potter. Wait.”

Harry swirled around and looked at Draco expectantly. “What?”

Draco looked down. “Never-mind. Go on.”

Harry gave Draco a funny look and said, “Well, till tomorrow then.”

“Till tomorrow,” Draco replied, watching Harry give one final wave before he jogged back up to the manor.

~

Draco, after taking a carriage in town, arrived back at the castle. Its white spires contrasted with the cloudy late afternoon sky. A long marble bulevarde led to the main gate where Draco was greeted by the palace guards. He alighted in front of the castle’s wide steps. As Draco strode through the golden gem encrusted front doors, he was stopped by one of his father’s retainers.

“Prince Draco,” the stuffy white-wigged retainer said with a bow, “Your father requires your presence immediately.”

“Of course, lead me to him,” Draco said.

The retainer lead Draco through the richly furnished halls of the palace, ornate tapestries adorned the walls and thick plush carpets muffling their footsteps.  
He came to a stop in front of a black mahogany door, carved with writhing serpents- the door to Draco’s father’s office. The retainer knocked with a gloved hand and upon hearing “You may enter,” promptly opened the door for Draco and announced his entrance.

“Leave us,” Lucius said, looking up from his paper-work.

The black door closed immediately with a slight bang.

“Father, what is it?” Draco asked, approaching the man behind the desk.

“Draco, as my heir you realize you have a duty to marry a powerful witch or wizard that will strengthen our bloodline.”

“Yes, Father.” Draco replied, wondering where his father could be going with this. He was already well aware of his duties.

“Draco,” Lucius said clearing his throat, “I expect that you will be getting married within the year as your mother and I are getting old, and you are the only heir. You must find a strong partner and continue our bloodline immediately, for the sake of caution.”

“Father,” Draco protested, “I cannot just marry anyone just because you deem them powerful! You’ve given me a year to meet someone and marry, you practically want me to marry a stranger.”

“If marrying a stranger is what it takes to preserve our family’s prestige then you will do it, Draco,” said Lucius, eyes growing steely.

Draco swallowed nervously after locking eyes with his father. “And how do you propose me to find a suitable heir in such a short amount of time? Surely they must meet your standards.”

Lucius failed to acknowledge the acid in Draco’s tone as he opened the top drawer of his desk and pulled out a sheet of shimmering parchment. He handed it to Draco.

On September 19th, Prince Malfoy will be hosting a celebration of grandeur and festivities. We humbly beseech you, witches and wizards alike, to attend his masquerade ball on this date. In order to find a suitable heir for The Prince, dueling will commence between six and nine o’clock. The ball itself will begin at 5pm-3am.  
Thank you,  
The Royal Family

Draco made a face at the flowery language and the obscene amount of glitter stuck to the parchment that was now covering his hands.

“Father, you can’t be serious,” Draco said, handing the invitation back to him. “This is ridiculous.”

Lucius smirked coldly. “Oh, Draco. Why must you always be so difficult? Can you think of a better way to find a proper spouse?”

Draco was at a loss for words. Part of him was tempted to reply with sarcasm but he could tell from his father’s cold, empty stare that he was already unhappy with him. “No, Father.”

“It’s settled then. I’ll be sure to invite only those of royal blood.”

An image of the servant from earlier, Potter, all powerful muscle and copious amounts of magic that had made Draco’s stomach drop (although the commoner had never seen fit to use his magic for some reason in front of Draco) flashed through his mind.

“Father, perhaps we should invite commoners as well? They may not be of royal blood but you and I both know that status doesn’t actually dictate the purity and power of someone’s blood.”  
Lucius considered this for a moment, tapping his long, glossy fingernails against his desk.

“Alright then. I suppose commoners should be invited as well.”

Draco felt something akin to excitement. Curious. 

“You are dismissed,” Lucius said, waving a hand. Draco stood up immediately, repressing a smile, and retreated back to his quarters.


	3. Chapter III: A King and a Capable Muggleborn

Draco was restless. He stared at the half-completed homework his tutors had assigned but could not bring himself to do more of it. He sighed, falling back onto his moss-green four-poster bed with a thump. He closed his eyes as he rubbed his temples; it had been a long day. First, in the morning, he had had potions class (which was fine enough) but that was followed by the history of magic, which was less fine and more along the lines of horrifically boring. Tutor Binns had lectured for a whole hour on the reason for the creation of the seasoning potion. And then there had been that whole debacle in town with that Potter-boy. Potter was a disrespectful lowlife who didn’t know his place, however he found himself yearning to spend more time with him. Perhaps for the independence? The experience? Surely it could not have been the commoner himself. 

Draco frowned, thinking about the vile way the boy’s Uncle had treated Potter. Barbaric. 

And to top everything off about that day, his father had demanded that he take on a partner! Draco shifted uneasily, his nerves on edge just thinking about it. Unable to bear sitting down and continuing to brood about it, however, Draco decided to go for a ride on his broomstick.

As he strolled through the corridors on the way to the castle’s quidditch pitch, Draco Malfoy, esteemed heir to the throne, descendant of one of the most prestigious pureblood lines, bumped into someone for the second time in one day.

“Oi! Watch where you’re going, Draco,” Pansy Parkinson said, dusting off her jewel-covered dress. Draco idly stared at her from where he had fallen after the collision.

“I suggest you watch it, Pans, because you just bumped into the Prince,” He grinned, taking Pansy’s proffered velvet-gloved hand. Pansy giggled.  
“My deepest most sincere apologies, Sire,” She said, rolling her deep brown eyes playfully and walking alongside Draco. “Where are you headed?”

“The quidditch pitch.”

“Ah, got it. Need to clear your head?”

Draco was nonplussed by the fact that Pansy seemed to know exactly what he was thinking. She had always known Draco practically as well as he knew himself.

“Yes. I do.”

“You do? And why is that?” Pansy asked curiously.

“That, Pansy,” Draco said, beginning to walk a little quicker. “Is none of your business.”

“None of my--But Draco, I’m your best friend! You’re supposed to tell me everything.” 

Draco snorted. “Fine, fine. Father is making me choose a partner by the end of this year.”

Pansy’s eyes bulged and her mouth opened slightly.

“What?! You’re only 18! Has The King lost his mind?!”

Draco sighed and shrugged solemnly.

“He’s insisted that I hold a ball to search for the proper partner who will keep our bloodline pure and powerful.”

“He’s lost it. Your father has lost it.”

Draco felt a flicker of irritation at the repeated insults towards his father. Sure, his father was cold, but he was a pure blood and the king. And while Lucius may have not been the most...affectionate father (not that Draco needed affection), Draco knew he was doing what was best for the kingdom. He would be forever loyal to his father and it was also Draco’s duty as the Prince to listen to the King, no matter what the circumstances.

“No, Pansy, he hasn’t,” Draco sighed, “ He simply wishes to uphold the Malfoy family’s reputation which is entirely understandable.”

“But Draco, he’s basically treating you no better than a whore, ready to sell you off to the highest bidder-”

“Let’s just leave it as it is, Pans,” Draco retorted, voice cold and void of emotion, “I don’t have a choice in the matter.”

Pansy gave him one of her looks, that implied there was no way she was letting it go. She did drop it for the moment, though, but Draco heard her mumbling something about “unfairness and Draco deserving true love,” before she trounced off in a flurry of silk and gems.

~  
Harry Potter could not sleep either that night. 

He jiggled his leg, alternating between burrowing into his thin blanket and tossing around like a fish. What is it with these bloody fish metaphors? He thought as he picked dirt from under his nails. 

His thoughts immediately strayed to that rich imbecile, Draco. He was a puzzle, to say the least; A complete snob with an absurd, glorified self-image. And yet he had still saved Harry’s sorry arse (perhaps, as compensation for the drowning incident) and asked him for swimming lessons. 

Harry had to admit that he was attractive. Not that he would ever be interested in such a person, but still. He could recognize that the man was aesthetically pleasing. Draco resembled an ice prince, something cold and complex and sharp; almost like a veela disguised in glamour. Now, Harry thought as his stream of consciousness finally began to slow, How the hell do I teach an incompetent noble to swim? 

~  
When Harry awoke, it was strangely quiet. No bells, no booming demands. He realized sluggishly that it was still the middle of the night; the sun had not yet risen and the sky was a dewy, blackish grey. And then, he realized as he sat up, it was warm. 

Harry was more alert now, mind spinning in confusion. The living room was always freezing at night, without fail, but tonight Harry felt warm and...cozy? He hadn’t felt cozy in years. 

He took in his surroundings. Oh, he thinks. The fireplace is lit.  
Harry knew for a fact that he had not lit it, because that would use too much wood and end in a one-sided feud between himself and Uncle Vernon. Could Dudley have...no, of course not, Harry thought. Dudley would never do something nice for me. 

Harry was confused, but grateful. Perhaps he had lit the fire and forgotten? He sighed contentedly, rolling around in his blankets and smiling. He breathed in the scent of burning wood, a welcome odor, and his chest bloomed with happiness. What a fantastic night, he thought, immediately seizing the opportunity. Harry fetched the copy of his book from under the dusty velvet sofa. He had been hiding it there for months, Uncle Vernon would never approve and Dudley would burn it up, and so far he had not been caught. The novel was old and yellowing, with a rusty red cover and loose binding. The Tale of the Deathly Hallows. 

The words were simple, an easy read. Harry had never been a fan of long and complex stories. The plot was rudimentary, almost childish, but there was something about the tale that had him completely engrossed whenever he picked it up. An invisibility cloak? Surely there was no such thing.  
Harry’s chest was heavy with the realization that the book was almost finished. He would have to go to the library tomorrow and exchange it for something else. What else was he supposed to do during his fleeting free time during the night, when it was too cold and dangerous to roam the streets? 

To his disappointment, Harry finished the book quickly; however the conclusion was perfectly satisfying. A clever wizard, still just a man, had become equals with Death himself. It was fantastic. 

~

The next morning, Harry took care of his numerous chores and then headed to the library. He jumped from cobblestone to cobblestone, and this time decided to talk to Neville. 

“Hello, Neville,” Harry said as he approached. 

“Hello, Harry! Where are you off to today? I don’t see any laundry," Neville said. Harry smiled at his soft features. His teeth were a bit too large for his face and his eyes were kind and warm. A fondness for the boy hit Harry, then; he was glad to know Neville, no matter how fleeting their conversations might be. 

Harry smiled and held up the book. “Library.”  
“Oh, the library! Have you met the new assistant yet?” Neville bounced on his heels eagerly. 

“Erm, no, I haven’t.”

Neville revealed the news enthusiastically. “Her name is Granger. Hermione Granger. Smartest witch you’ll ever talk to, I swear it! She’s young, like us. Just graduated from the School for Muggleborns.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “A Muggleborn?” 

“Yeah! Isn’t that incredible? I’ve never seen a Muggleborn with a job other than servitude. Uhm, no offense, of course.”

Harry barked out a laugh and pat Neville on the shoulder. “None taken. Well, alright, I’d better be going. Hope the fish bite today. See you, Neville!”

“See you, Harry.” 

He continued on, taking in the brick buildings and various street vendors practically begging for his business, until he reached the worn-down establishment that was the kingdom’s center of knowledge. Little actually knew that this building existed, and the select few who did treated it as some kind of sanctuary. The library was special. Harry would always see the same people there, the same faces, reading the same genres of books.

Harry opened the gate, an obnoxious creaking filling his ears. The brick path led to the small, wooden building complete with a cracked roof and a shrivelled garden. As soon as he walked through the door, the comforting scent of worn parchment and book polish welcomed him. Normally, Harry would escort himself over to the lore and fairy tale section, read silently on his own, and then choose his monthly book to hide beneath the rippling cushions of the Dursley's couch. This time, however, a dark-eyed, bushy-haired witch greeted him, blocking his intended path. 

“Hello there, and welcome to the Regulus Black Library! I’m Hermione, and you?” She thrust an eager hand towards Harry, who took a moment to shake it. 

“Harry. Er, nice to meet you.” 

“Are you interested in books?” Hermione asked, Harry nodded. “Then you’ve come to the right place, Harry. Care for recommendations?” 

Harry was about to decline her offer and tell her that he was just fine on his own, but she continued speaking before he could do so. 

“Our Historical Spells section is quite vast, full of useful information if you’re planning on becoming a magical historian. There’s also a very in-depth collection on the Royal Family, dating back almost 500 years ago in the 1100s. Oh, and if you’re interested in Immortality, Nicolas Flamel writes wonderful works on his newest techniques! Those are my personal favorites. But of course, every piece here is incredibly educational.” 

“Wow, uh, that’s great. I’ll have to check those out,” Harry mumbled. Hermione seemed unfazed by the flatness in Harry’s tone; she just smiled and gestured to the entire library. 

“Wonderful! Make yourself at home.” 

So Harry did. He found his favorite couch and took a seat after thumbing through various editions of fantasy stories. He settled on a collection of children’s tales and once again, despite their simple vocabulary, Harry found that he quite enjoyed them. 

Eventually, the orange sky outside of the small, stained-glass window notified Harry of the time. High noon. He quickly gave Hermione, the assistant, his finished book and made a swift exit. Hermione stared back at him pointedly, one bushy eyebrow raised. 

Upon returning to the Dursley’s, Harry’s positive mood began to dwindle into a somber boredom. As he completed his chores, all he could think about was the infinite amount of tasks farther on his list. They were never ending, it seemed to him. And then, as he splashed his hand about in the warm water he’d brought from the fire to clean dishes with, he was reminded of tomorrow’s plans. The swimming lesson with Draco, that obnoxious nobleman. 

~

Draco woke up to the sound of his mother’s harp. Memories came flooding back at the sweet, liquid sound: Memories of his father pacing back and forth, back and forth inside of his chambers, screaming at employees about their inferior blood status. Threatening their families, threatening their children. He remembered the way his mother would hold him as he cried, after his father called him useless, and sing to him in hushed tones. Draco loved his mother dearly. In his eyes, she truly was a queen. 

Once the fog cleared from his thoughts, he pushed his silken sheets off of his body and shivered despite the fact that his room was at a comfortable temperature. 

He remembered with a start that it was Tuesday. Time for his lesson with a very unqualified teacher. He shook his head at his own stupidity; a petty servant, teaching him to swim? It’s not something he couldn’t have figured out on his own. Or he always could have asked his father to hire a more capable tutor. 

And yet, he had an aching need to show up and prove to* ...what was his name again? Potter) that he was superior than him in more ways than just status; he was born better, and he would surpass him in even something he didn’t quite know how to do yet. But there was also...a fondness? Something about Potter’s uncivil behavior towards him made his stomach flop, made him feel...normal. Not that being normal is a good thing, he thought as he stripped off his satin pajamas and began to dress himself. 

He ignored the incessant knocking of his servant, who normally prepared him for the day if requested. But today, Draco was in no mood to be fretted over. 

“Leave me,” He snapped, and the knocking stopped abruptly. 

Once he was spruced up in his typical attire, Draco looked at himself in the mirror. He knew he was good looking, of course, but today he was doubting himself. He shook his head and puffed his chest out while smoothing back a stray strand of hair. Perfect, he thought. 

And then he was off. Despite the servants and knights that practically begged to follow him around whenever he so much as left the castle, Draco held up a dismissive hand and continued on his way, alone. The bustle of commoners outside of the castle gates parted ways for him like the red sea, and Draco beamed. That right there, he thought, is something I’ll never tire of. 

This continued throughout the entire journey. Girls blushed and giggled as he passed by and many men dropped to their knees and bowed. As satisfying as this was, however, Draco felt a fleeting pang of concern that someday Potter would see this, would figure out who he was. He was not entirely sure why that bothered him, so he shrugged and continued on his way. 

After a few wrong turns and few stuttering commoners assisting him with directions, Draco had made it to the river. He was shocked to see Potter already sitting on the edge, dipping his bare feet into the slow-moving water. He was staring at the sky, delicate features illuminated by the sun, and Draco was stunned into silence. His eyes were so green, so different from Draco’s own harsh grey. God, it had been ages since Draco had been with anyone, much less someone so beautiful--Draco shook his head, rather ashamed of himself. Was he really so desperate that he found a petty servant attractive? He grimaced, however still failed to remove his eyes from Harry's person. Finally, after noting the faint red highlights woven in Harry’s black tresses, Draco cleared his throat. 

“I’ve come for our lesson, Potter. With a substantial amount of payment. How much you receive will be based on your performance.”

Harry seemed startled by Draco’s appearance only for a moment. He whirled around and waved awkwardly, meeting Draco’s eyes. “Oh, hello, Draco. You actually showed up.” 

Draco sputtered. “A Malfoy never backs down from a promise, I’ll have you know! Now teach me, Potter.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Thanks so much for sticking with us for this long. This is a shorter chapter, hope that's ok! In the next one the sexual tension is gonna be ridiculous, so prepare yourselves. The ball will also be coming soon, so stay tuned! I hope you're enjoying the story so far. Please comment and let us know if you enjoyed it! I really had fun writing Hermione. She's so cute and amazing. Also...notice any hints about what's going to happen as far as harry's magic is concerned? ;)  
> <3 femmefatales and thatsayouproblem


	4. Chapter IV: A Lesson and And Invitation

CHAPTER IV: A Lesson and an Invitation 

 

“You want me to teach you?” Harry asked, eyebrow raised. “In that?” 

Harry gestured to the extravagant, pale blue robes falling loosely around Draco’s slender frame. Harry had to admit that they looked damn good on him, despite the fact that they were a completely and utterly ridiculous wardrobe choice. 

“Well, I wasn’t expecting to keep them on in the water if that’s what your stupid arse is implying!”

Harry flushed and cleared his throat awkwardly. He was definitely not excited to see this pansified nitwit without all those clothes on, definitely not. “Oh, you weren't ? I suppose you’re not as thick as you look, then.” 

“Disrespectful lowlife,” Draco grumbled as he stepped out of his robes. Harry, ironically out of respect, turned his head. Draco did not seem to mind, however, being as he stepped in front of Harry in all of his shirtless glory the moment he had finished stripping. Thankfully, he was wearing a fancy bathing costume; deep green shorts with white trim. They fit him rather...well, and it took all of Harry’s self control not to curse under his breath. As obnoxious and prissy as this man was, Harry had to admit that he was simply gorgeous. 

 

Harry rolled his eyes, a feeble attempt to repress his thoughts. “Get over yourself, Blondie, and get in the water.”

“Get in the water? Is that the only advice you have for me?” 

“What, you’re not scared are you? I won’t let you drown, just do it.”

Draco stuck a pristine foot into the river and grimaced. “Cold. It’s cold.” 

“Of course it’s cold. What were you expecting, a warm bath?” 

“Shut it.”

Harry mimed zipping his mouth shut and decided that he should show Draco how it was done. He took off his own shirt and practically flipped into the water, immediately emerging. He shook the water out of his heavy hair and smiled, sucking in a breath of cold air and relishing in its crispness. 

“See?” Harry asked, sloshing about. “I’m still alive.” 

Draco snorted, scrunched up his face (which made him look something like a grumpy fox) and awkwardly thrust his body into the river. Just as Harry had expected, he sunk like a stone. Harry was not so cruel as to let him suffer, so he grabbed Draco by the shoulders and pulled him up immediately. The man was surprisingly light; Harry could handle his weight without much of a problem. 

“I could have died, Potter!” Draco bellowed, white-blond hair now a wet mop. 

“You weren't under the water for more than ten seconds. How else were you supposed to get in? I’m holding you now, aren’t I?” 

Draco looked down, seeming to notice Harry’s hands wrapped around him, and flushed. “Oh...yes, I suppose you are,” He sniffed, looking everywhere but Harry’s eyes. 

“Glad you understand that you’re not in mortal peril. Anyway, today let's just focus on you not drowning.”

“Do you mean to tell me that that's the main objective of this lesson?” Draco asked incredulously and mildly horrified.  
“Yes, I do. Now listen. You need to use your legs. They aren’t just dead weight, you know. They’ll keep you afloat.” 

Draco looked down, moving his wiry legs about and giving Harry a good kick to the shin. Harry sucked in a breath of pain but Draco failed to notice, too absorbed in his own failing attempts at kicking. 

“Well I suppose that’s a start. Kick harder, stronger. Don’t be so dainty about it.” 

“I’m not dainty, you scum!”

“Kick, Draco. Kick.” 

Draco sighed in resignation and did as told, slowly but surely gaining speed and strength. When he used too much of his knees and not enough of his muscles, Harry would place a gentle hand on his thigh and reposition him. Harry would shake his head whenever his mind began to wander or marvel at the softness of Draco’s skin. 

The two kept this up for a while until Harry made the decision to silently detach himself from Draco. 

He didn’t sink.

Harry was immediately filled with a ridiculous sense of pride. “Look at you! You’re doing it!” 

Draco looked around wildly, suddenly realizing that Harry was no longer supporting him. He gasped, grey eyes widening in fear, and immediately began to sink. 

Harry sighed dejectedly, smile fading, and he swam quickly back to Draco and pulled him up. He coughed out a bit of water but seemed otherwise unfazed, eyes piercing Harry with a venomous glare. 

“You left without notifying me.”

“I was two feet away. And you were ready. You didn’t even need me, you just freaked out like the pansy you are and forgot about what you were supposed to be doing.” 

“I would never--”

“Hey, all else aside, I’d say you’re doing pretty well. Now you know how to survive if you ever fall into another river without a lowly servant nearby to save you.” 

Malfoy sighed, looking at Harry through long eyelashes. His skin was a flawless, milky ivory that left Harry a bit breathless. “Of course I did well. I’m a Malfoy.” 

“You’re bloody ridiculous. Now get out.” 

Draco tried and failed to obey, slipping on the slimy walls of the river and staring distastefully at the mud on his hands. Harry groaned, hoping he sounded repulsed at the idea of touching Draco’s bare skin again. Because frankly, he wasn’t. 

“C’mon, I’ll help you out.”

“I suppose that’s your job as a servant isn’t it?” Draco huffed. 

“Need I remind you that I’m the one doing you a favor here?”

That shut Draco up long enough for Harry to grab his slender waist and lift him up high for a bit of momentum. Draco successfully pushed himself out of the water and onto the gravelly earth. 

The look on his face as he wiped a fleck of mud off of his porcelain chest had to have been one of the funniest things Harry had seen in his entire existence. Suddenly Harry was laughing like he hadn’t in ages. He laughed, and laughed, loose and free. I’ve forgotten how nice this is, Harry thought briefly before finally catching his breath. He opened his eyes to Draco staring intently at him, mystified. 

“What in Merlin’s name is wrong with you?” Draco asked, completely oblivious to how pathetic he looked.

“You’re hilarious, that’s what’s wrong with me,” Harry said as he hoisted himself out of the water. 

“Shut your good for nothing mouth, Potter, or my father will hear about this,” Draco said sternly. He continued before Harry could retort. “However, you were indeed successful in teaching me the rudimentary skills I’ll need to become a swimmer, so I believe some payment is in order.”  
“Payment?” Harry asked. “I don’t want any payment.”

“Of course you do.”

“No, I don’t. Take your money and go. I hope you’ve brought towels,” Harry said. Draco reminded him of a soaked cat, droplets of water sliding down his abdomen and leaving dark spots on the dirt below. 

“I have!” Draco rummaged through a diamond-encrusted leather bag he had apparently brought along, and pulled out a bleached white, fluffy towel. Harry momentarily yearned to touch it, to feel the soft fabric beneath his palms. 

“Good, good. Now you won’t freeze to death on your way home. See you next time?” Harry asked, praying that the hope in his voice was undetectable. 

“Unfortunately.” And then Draco was off, leaving a trail of water behind him. 

 

~

 

The days that followed were incredibly uneventful. Dull, drab, dim; everything that Draco Malfoy was not. Harry shook his head in an attempt to shake away the invasive thoughts of the ponce; they seemed to be constantly nagging him ever since that damned lesson. But who could blame him when the man was so bloody attractive? Harry was only human, after all. 

Time passed sluggishly, and Harry’s chores seemed to be even more intolerable than usual. Harry was restless. So, naturally, when he was handed a very glittery and flamboyant envelope from the Royal Family, he was shellshocked. Vernon had laughed his fat arse off at the fact that Harry had actually gotten mail for once, insisting that it must have been a mistake. However, he shut his mouth when Harry read the letter out loud. A Royal Ball. To find a spouse for the Prince himself. And Harry, of all people, was invited. Of course, Dudley had received one too, but it still served as a complete and utter surprise. How did the Royal Family even know Harry’s name? 

Harry found it ironic that the Royal Family had the last name Malfoy. Perhaps Draco really was a distant relative of them after all. Harry snorted at the thought. 

After Vernon had forgotten Harry and his letter, he turned to Dudley who was staring down at the paper in disgust, nose scrunched. “I won’t go, father!” 

Vernon’s face fell and he rushed to Dudley’s side. “But Dudders, you must!”

“I don’t like other blokes! I don’t like to dance!” 

“Oh, but you do! Surely you could fall in love with such a beautiful prince. And don’t you remember your dance lessons with Aunt Marge?”

“I HATED those damned lessons! And I don’t care if he’s a prince, I won’t marry another man!” Dudley stomped his foot like a child about to throw a tantrum, and Harry couldn’t help but snicker. 

“Something funny, boy?” Vernon turned towards Harry, face purpleing. “Shut it or I’ll lock you out.” 

Harry did as told, reluctantly. He always enjoyed watching Vernon cajole Dudley into obeying him. 

“Dudley, my son, can’t you do this for me?” When Dudley crossed his arms defiantly, Vernon began grovelling once again. “How about this, Dudders? How about I buy you a new set of silverware, so you can eat like the beautiful prince you are? 

Dudley considered this for a moment, seemingly weighing his options. “Make it gold and I’ll go.” 

Vernon paled slightly; the were low on income as it was. 

“A-Alright, darling boy. Gold it is. Whatever you’d like.”

Dudley laughed and stomped his way over to the stairs, and Harry had to repress another snort at how pathetic his uncle and cousin truly were. 

~

Harry continued his day with yet another trip to the market. That seemed to be all he’d been doing these days, and frankly he was getting rather bored of it; however anything was better than being stuck at home with his uncle and cousin. Having nothing to buy and no chores to complete, Harry thought that he might stop by the library again despite the fact that he hadn’t any books to check out or return. Something about the sincerity of the place drew him in. 

And so, without any particular direction in mind, that’s where he ended up. He stepped in, strides soft and relaxed, expecting to be greeted by that enthusiastic Muggleborn Hermione. She was otherwise occupied, however, blabbing away to a rather eye-catching figure. He was tall and covered in heavy silver chainmail that caused every subtle movement of his to puncture the silence of the library with an obnoxious creaking sound. Harry could make out a fiery piece of red hair beneath his helmet as well as thick woolen socks bunched up inside of his boots. 

Harry took a step closer and could make out their voices. 

 

“Bloody hell! This is a library and you don’t even have any of the King’s Speeches?!” The knight practically bellowed. His nose was long and his ears were large. Freckles were sprayed haphazardly across his ruddy cheeks. 

“Excuse me? Are you implying that our library is lacking in some way? I’ll have you know that we have every book on every topic possible, and it is no fault of ours that The King has refused to publish any of his speeches.”

“Are you insulting the King?!” The knight said incredulously. 

Hermione looked aghast. “Of course not, Ronald! I am simply stating a fact!”

The knight, apparently named Ronald, was about to mumble something else before Hermione noticed Harry’s presence and spoke. 

“Oh, hello again! Harry, wasn’t it?”

Harry nodded awkwardly, noting that Hermione’s hair seemed to be twice as large as the last time he had seen her. 

“Yeah. It’s, erm, good to see you?”

Hermione laughed ruefully and rolled her eyes, subtly gesturing towards the Knight with her slim shoulder. 

“Harry, Ronald. Ronald, Harry.”

“Hello,” Harry nodded. The Knight nodded back, making his way over to Harry and shaking his hand heartily. Harry’s eyes widened when he noticed the particularly large sword hanging heavy on Ronald’s thigh. 

“Good to meet you. And it’s Ron, by the way. Granger over here doesn’t understand nicknames.”

Hermione elbowed him this time. “I do too! I just don’t see it. Ron doesn’t suit you. Too casual for a knight.” 

“I’ll show you too casual!”

Harry couldn’t help but laugh. Ron smiled back, to his relief, and joined in. 

“Ridiculous, isn’t it?” Hermione said, brown eyes warm. “This is supposed to be a library, but it’s impossible to find any peace and quiet in here!”

“I don’t mind it,” Harry said. Ron grinned at him. 

“I like you, Harry. How come I haven’t seen you around before?”

“Well, I suppose I don’t get out much. I’m a servant.” 

Ron grimaced. “Oh. I see. Sorry, it just seemed to me like you have some pretty powerful magic.”

 

“I don’t,” Harry said simply, deciding to change the subject before he had to explain further. “So, you work for the King?”

Ron puffed out his chest and Hermione snorted at his display of grandeur. “Yeah, I do! One of his Royal Knights.”

“He just started last week,” Hermione grumbled, and Ron shot her a glare. Harry pretended not to hear that part.

“I bet that’s an exciting job. I ran into a noble the other day, actually. Are they all so stuck up?” Harry asked with genuine interest. 

Ron scratched the back of his head and shifted awkwardly. “Er, yeah. They are. But of course I’d never speak badly of his Royal Highness, that would go against my Knightly Pledge!” 

“I see. That’s...admirable,” Harry said. 

Ron’s smile was dopey, but charming. Hermione seemed to agree, being as she snorted out a laugh. 

“Get out of my library, Ronald.”

Ron deflated at her words. “Why? Isn’t this supposed to be a place for everyone?”

 

“Everyone except obnoxiously loud knights like yourself.” 

Ron’s indignant huff blew a bright strand of hair in front of his eyes. Harry grinned. 

“Well, I suppose I’d better get back to my cleaning and laundry. Enjoy having actual careers!” Harry said, chest lighter than it had been a while. 

“It was nice to see you again, Harry,” Hermione said with a gentle hand on her hip. 

“Good to meet you, mate,” Ron said, waving awkwardly. “You seem like a pretty decent bloke.”

“Thanks?” Harry laughed, turning around and heading back home. 

 

 

~

The next lesson with Draco came unusually quickly. This time, he actually showed up in a bathing costume. He lacked a shirt and Harry was yet again given a full view of his pale, toned chest; his stomach was completely flat and his waist was impossibly thin. He was so clean, so pristine. Harry swallowed when he noticed the way those emerald green bathing shorts hugged Draco in all the right places, and it took almost all of his self control to tear his eyes away from the beautiful sight. Merlin, he’s gorgeous, he thought as he willed himself to actually speak. 

“Uh... Hello,” Harry mumbled stupidly as racing thoughts of Draco’s legs wrapped around his waist flashed through his mind. 

Draco raised a sharp eyebrow, sensing Harry’s awkwardness. “Are you checking me out, plebeian?” 

“Er. Yeah. Sorry.” No use denying it I suppose, Harry thought grimly. 

Draco flushed all the way up to his ears, eyes widening in shock. “Oh. You...actually were?” 

Despite the intense urge to run away and go lock himself away for eternity, Harry maintained eye contact and nodded. 

“You were. Well,” Draco cleared his throat and waved his hand rather stiffly, without any of the grace he usually possessed. “No matter. Let’s begin.” 

And so they did. Harry stripped himself of his own shirt, failing to notice the way Draco’s eyes mirrored his own just a few moments before, and plunged into the frigid, clear water. 

Draco stood there for a moment and dipped a dainty toe into it just like he had before. Harry laughed at the action. 

“It’s not bad, Draco, you priss, just get in!” Harry shook his head, water droplets spraying about, and Draco was momentarily reminded of a wet dog. 

“Fine!” And then he plunged in, all flailing limbs and white light. 

He was still for a moment and Harry rolled his eyes, hoping to Merlin that Draco knew how to kick upwards by now. In a moment his prayers were answered and Draco’s blonde head popped out of the water. 

“Not bad? Not bad?! Are you bloody kidding me? It’s fucking freezing!” He bellowed. 

“You have quite a naughty mouth for a prince,” Harry said with a smirk. He didn’t intend it to sound the way it did, but Draco certainly interpreted it as such being as he dove back under the water to hide his rosy cheeks. Harry felt a quick surge of embarrassment only to feel rather pleased by his ability to make Draco blush. It was gratifying, seeing someone who thought so highly of themselves become a flushed schoolgirl. Not to mention, it made Draco appear more delectable than he already did.

“Are you going to swim or just float around? Show me what you’ve got.”

And Draco did. Harry knew that he was technically a tutor, and tutors were supposed to be patient, but holding back his laughter was proving to be a challenging task. Draco was barely keeping his head above water as he flailed about, breathing labored. 

“I hate to ask for such a thing,” Draco gasped in between gulps of water. “But can you please help me?”

Harry simpered, eyes twinkling. “Sure, Draco.” He swam towards him with quick and graceful strokes, revelling in Draco’s look of wonder. 

“What do you need me to do? Haven’t seen enough to give you any pointers yet,” Harry said smugly as Draco scowled at him. 

“Hold onto my waist, Potter, you imbecile!”

Harry swallowed. Oh dear. “Are you that lazy? Seriously?”

Draco sniffed and looked away. “Lazy? Of course not. I want you to guide me, that’s all.” 

Harry huffed out a breath and shook his head, but did as told. God, Harry thought as he wrapped his calloused hands around Draco’s white waist once again. His skin is so soft. 

“You already know how to stay afloat, you hoity-toity arse. What do you even need my help for?” Harry asked caustically. 

Draco looked like a deer caught in headlights, suddenly; like he’d done something wrong. Harry immediately felt guilty and frowned. Perhaps Draco really was as incompetent as Harry had once thought.

“Oh, sorry, if you really need the help then--” 

“Don’t be silly, Potter. I can do it myself,” Draco muttered, averting his gaze and wrenching himself away from Harry’s grasp with an absurdly dramatic flair. 

There was something in Draco’s tone and ridiculous mannerisms that hit Harry like a freight train. The acidity was merely an act, a defense mechanism, and it made Harry’s chest ache with something he was only just beginning to identify. Harry pondered this foreign emotion for a moment. Could it be that he actually had feelings for this brat? This absurdly lovable, attractive brat? Dread clouded Harry’s head at the realization. Why? Harry thought ruefully. Of all people, why him? Draco would never, ever feel the same way. Not only did class factor into it, but sexuality did as well. Draco probably had no interest in other men. Not that he would ever go for a servant like Harry if he did. Harry realized with a start that he had not yet responded to Draco’s retort; this could have been why the other boy was staring at him expectedly. 

“Whatever you say,” Harry continued, voice wavering only slightly. Draco did not seem to notice; he merely scowled at Harry for a few more moments. 

“So? Are you going to tell me what I’m doing wrong?” 

“Oh,” Harry replied stupidly. “Yeah. Your kicking is off again. Last time I was just trying to keep you from drowning but now I think you’re good, so. You’re just flopping your legs around so you can stay afloat. That’s why you’re not getting anywhere.” 

Draco looked puzzled as he continued kicking his feet sporadically. “What do I do?” 

God, Harry thought as he pushed off of the river wall and made his way over to Draco. Why does he have to be so damn endearing? 

“Well,” Harry said as he demonstrated. “You need to use your arms, too. Don’t let them just fly around or you’re going to stay in place. And you need to close your fingers so you can push the water away from you and gain speed.” 

“Hmm.” Draco began to kick more methodically this time; although he was all knees and flailing limbs he still managed to move a few feet closer to Harry. 

“That’s it! Keep going!” 

Draco smiled widely like a proud child and continued clumsily making his way toward him. Once the two were just inches apart, Harry had trouble ignoring the fact that Draco was so close; every pale eyelash, every fleck of pale blue is his otherwise grey eyes, was visible. 

“Good,” Harry said quietly, placing a friendly hand on Draco’s lithe shoulder. He allowed it to linger a little too long, however, and he noticed Draco’s eyes flitting over to where his hand rested. Harry pulled it away as though he had been burned, and he must have imagined Draco’s slight shudder. 

Harry continued teaching Draco the ins-and-outs of gaining momentum and actually utilizing his other two limbs for a little under an hour, all the while trying to drown out unwelcome thoughts of Draco. When the two were finished, Draco climbed out of the river, grimacing at the dirt on his smooth feet. 

“Potter. You’ve...successfully aided me today. I must insist on paying you.” 

Harry felt a flicker of irritation at Draco’s words. “I told you, Malfoy, I don’t want your money.” 

Draco shrugged, nonplussed. “Whatever. Merlin knows you need it.” 

Harry only rolled his eyes, giving Draco a playful shove. He chuckled when Draco actually stumbled. So delicate, Harry thought, amusement soon morphing into something else. He began to imagine how pliable and Draco would be if they fucked, how easy it would be for Harry shove his slender body up against a wall and--

“Well. I’ll see you soon, there.” Draco said, pulling Harry out of his own head. 

“Oh, yeah. See you,” Harry waved stiffly and bent down to continue doing his laundry. He prayed for Draco to just go before things got out of hand, but he could still feel cold, grey eyes on his back. 

“Why do you do the laundry yourself when you can just use a charm? I’ve seen my servants do it.” 

Oh God, Harry thought, throat tightening in sudden fear. He couldn’t lie, could he? “I can’t use magic,” He said before he did something even stupider than telling the truth. Draco was silent for a moment, eyes boring a hole through Harry’s forehead. 

“What? Why not? Have you committed a crime?” Draco asked thoughtfully. “I wouldn’t put it past someone of your socioeconomic status.” 

“Er, no. I just...don’t have any. Anymore.” 

The severity of Harry’s confession seemed to sink in, then. Draco’s mouth fell open. 

“What the bloody hell are you on about, Potter?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woohoo! This was a super super long chapter, hopefully made up for the last one! I really hope you guys enjoyed this, uGH I LOVE WRITING THIS!!! It is so so so much fun for me. I introduced Ron, I hope you guys like how I write him! He's such a cute lil dork and i love him. Thank you for reading and sticking with us, please tell us what you think!


	5. Chapter V: A Brawl and a Ball

“Potter?” Draco asked, voice shaky. “ Are you implying that you’re a Squib?” 

The word ‘Squib’ curled off of Draco’s tongue with such venom that Harry could not help but recoil. “I don’t know, I just--I can’t use magic anymore.”

“But you have magic, lots of it, I can feel it!” 

“No, I don’t!” Harry snapped, turning away from Draco and crossing his arms defiantly. “And if you don’t like it then you can get the hell out of here and find someone else who will deal with your incessant whining.” 

Draco looked hurt for a moment, shrinking back, but then his eyes hardened. “If I were to find a companion in any insignificant Squib, Potter, it would have been you. But you’re not. I’m sure of it.” 

Harry’s stomach unclenched and he released a tight breath he was unaware he was holding. “How do you even know that? And is this your own bigoted way of saying you’re okay with this?” 

Draco nodded, hard, and took a determined step towards Harry. “Purebloods can smell strong magic from a mile away, obviously,” He sighed, as if Harry should be aware of this. “It can’t be helped, I suppose. I must admit that you are doing a proficient job in teaching me, and to lose a qualified teacher such as yourself would be...regrettable. Regardless of magical abilities.” 

Draco was close, now, so close. His wet chest was chilly against Harry’s exposed skin. 

“Tell me, Potter. Or should I say, ‘Squib’. Are you...certain...that your magic has dissipated?” 

Harry found it hard to breath. Despite being doused in river water, Draco still smelled clean and flowery, like an expensively manufactured cologne, and it was making him dizzy. A charm, perhaps?

“I dunno. Haven’t been able to use it since I was a kid.” 

“Hm.” Draco stepped away now, smoothing his hair back. “I see. I wonder, were you invited to the Prince’s ball?” 

Harry snorted, rolling his eyes. “Yeah. So was Dudley. There’s no way in hell I’m going to such a pointless gathering full of rich pansies like you.”

“Shut it. You’re going. It’s the law, you know.” 

“I don’t give a rat’s arse about the law, I won’t go.” 

“Why not?” Draco challenged. “Scared, Potter?” 

“You wish.” 

Draco smiled wickedly, clasping his willowy hands together. “So you’ll come?” 

“If it’ll get you to shut your vacuous mouth then fine, I’ll go.” 

Draco sniffed proudly. looking down at Harry with false contempt. “Excellent. I could use the company, even if it is from a good-nothing-squib such as yourself.” 

Harry snorted, flipped him the bird as a farewell, and practically skipped home. Thank Merlin. 

~

Draco was throwing himself quite the pity party as he sat at his mahogany desk mulling through his Potions homework once again. He’d gotten a short but pleasing flight in before his lessons, but somehow it didn’t seem to be helping clear away his inner turmoil like it usually did. Why Potter? Why did he have to be painfully attracted to him, of all people? For as long as he could remember, Draco had been able to get what he wanted with a swish of his hand and a curt request. But Harry? He couldn't have him, ever, and he felt like throwing a hissy fit. Unless, of course, his rather hopeless plan succeeded. (Which, Draco thought. It won’t.)

He heard a booming knock on the door of his bedchambers; one that was strong and short, unlike the feeble tapping of his many servants. That could only mean one thing. 

“Come in, Mother,” Draco said with a deep sigh. 

The door swung open, scraping against the polished wall and making Draco grimace. The Queen always had to make an entrance, no matter the circumstances. Draco turned around to greet her. Narcissa’s black and white hair, tucked behind her bejeweled ears, was plaited into a complex network of braids. Her robes were floaty and shapeless, crafted from the finest silks in the kingdom. 

“You seemed rather pallid at dinner,” She said, voice tinged with genuine concern. “Are you ill?”

“No.” 

“You’re not ill? Hmm. Well, then, I suppose you must be upset about something. Is it your father?”

“Father?” Draco snorted. “I suppose you could say that.”

Narcissa raised a sharp, expectant eyebrow as she waited from Draco to continue. He sighed again, more dramatically this time and waited, but his mother continued staring at him sternly as she waited for a reply. 

“Alright, alright!” He took a breath and tried to gather his thoughts. “I don’t...I don’t want to marry just anyone,” He mumbled, face reddening in shame. “What if they’re rude? Or unattractive? Or--”

“Ah,” Narcissa cut him off, voice gentle. Her eyes were unusually warm as she clasped her two thin hands together. “I see now.”

“See what?!” Draco snapped. Narcissa did not bat an eye at the venom in her son’s voice.

“You have feelings for someone, don’t you?” She said, a small smile gracing her tinted lips.

Draco sputtered, flushing further. “Of course I don’t, Mother! I’m simply anxious about who my future spouse will be! That's natural, isn't it?!”

“Hush, Draco darling,” Narcissa cooed, tucking a strand of hair behind Draco’s ear. “I won’t allow your father to partner you with someone unworthy.”

“But he--

“You know our family, sweetheart,” She continued. “If you’re falling for someone, they are certainly worthy of keeping the family’s name. A Malfoy hasn’t betrothed anyone of inferior magic for hundreds of years, whether the marriage was arranged or not. Perhaps this person will be chosen.”

“I never admitted to having feelings for someone!” Draco swallowed, palms suddenly clammy. Harry was...a Squib, wasn’t he? The powerful magic Draco must have sensed was surely a trick of his mind, a grasp for straws; however his mother did have a point. Malfoys were notorious their magic-sensing capabilities, after all. If Potter had been able to use magic as a child…

“I know you well, my Prince,” Narcissa said, cupping Draco’s cheek. “But no matter. I won’t press the issue.” She stood up, black robes billowing around her. “Just remember, darling, that blood and love come hand in hand.” 

And then she was gone, heeled shoes echoing down the marble hall of the walkway outside of Draco’s bed chambers. 

~

Over the past few weeks, Harry had visited the library multiple times. It was nice having friends; for most of his life, the only company he had were his action figures and the kitchen rats. Of course, he’d talked to many people in town, but never had he had actual bond such as these. Ron and Hermione were easy to talk to. They had shared many laughs throughout the week, and Harry was grateful for that. As such, he found himself at the library yet again after his afternoon chores were completed. The two were bickering amicably and Harry smiled; this scene was becoming oddly familiar to him after a week of witnessing it. 

“Hello, Ron. Hello, Hermione,” Harry said, grinning. Hermione seemed delighted at his presence as usual, waving and uttering an enthusiastic: “Hello, Harry!” Ron smiled and mumbled a quick “Hello” of his own. Harry joined the pair at a table. In front of them was a giant pile of books without covers; most were incredibly tattered and poorly bound. 

“What are these?” Harry asked. Hermione scowled at the pile, and then at Ron, only to smile slightly when she met Harry’s eyes. 

“They’re untitled books. I’ve taken it upon myself to come up with fitting titles of my own and redo the binding. Ronald offered to help me, but I’ve found him to be quite lazy. We’re making very little progress.” 

“Hey!” Ron interjected. “I’m not lazy! You just work as fast as a deranged Niffler!” 

“It’s not my fault your motor skills are far below average.”

“Hey, er,” Harry interrupted, clearing his throat awkwardly. “I can help too, if you’d like.” 

Hermione beamed. “That would be wonderful, Harry! Hopefully you can get things done quicker than Ronald.”

Ron scowled but continued working, thumbing through books and reading them at a snail’s pace. Harry began doing the same. The first book he came across was about to fall apart, all torn pages and floppy bindings. The cover page, however, was still completely intact. Harry had a hard time reading it because the font was ridiculously tiny; his vision had always been terrible. 

An Encyclopedia of Dangerous Magical Items and their Properties, he finally made out. Harry was intrigued.

“Hermione,” Harry said, holding the book up. “This one’s already titled.” 

Hermione grabbed the book from Harry and gave it a once-over, focusing intently. 

“So it is. Tricky to read it though. I’d say rewrite the title anyway. Oh! I’ve forgotten to get you a quill!” She handed Harry a cheaply made red quill, feather dyed to appear similar to a phoenix's. 

“Thanks. Hey, Hermione. Do you mind if I check this out?”

“You can check out anything you like, Harry. As long as you bring it back,” Hermione said rather sternly. Harry laughed. 

“I’ll bring it back.”

The three worked in a comfortable silence for a while, until Harry had a thought. 

“Are you two going to the ball?” 

Hermione blushed and stared down at the book in front of her, suddenly completely engrossed in her work. Ron, however, grinned proudly. 

“Of course! I must protect his Royal Highness. I’m a door guard!”

Harry failed to see the appeal of that job, but he smiled politely anyway. “That’s quite impressive, Ron. What about you, Hermione?”

“U-Um, well. I’m a Muggleborn, you know. I would get kicked out.” 

“No!” Harry said, somewhat appalled. “They can’t kick you out, the Prince declared that everyone of any status is to be invited!”

Hermione’s eyes widened, deep and hopeful. “Did he really? I threw the invitation away before opening it.” 

“Yes, he did.”

“Maybe you’ll meet a nice bloke who’ll put up with your crap,” Ron mumbled under his breath. Hermione sniffed. 

“Bloke? Who says I like blokes?”

Now it was Ron’s turn to blush. “Uh, oh. Didn’t know. Sorry.” 

“So, Harry,” Hermione continued, ignoring Ron’s apology. “Do you plan on meeting anyone at the ball?” 

Harry flushed. “Well, er, not anyone who would ever want to dance with me.” 

Ron’s red eyebrows knit together. “What do you mean?”

Hermione giggled softly, seeming very pleased by what Harry had just said. “He means, Ronald, that he’s in love with someone.”

“I’m not--” Harry began, scandalized.

“Who is she, mate? What’s she like?” Ron asked, suddenly much more eager to immerse himself in the conversation. 

“It’s...not a she. And I don’t care about him that much, or I shouldn’t anyway. He’s a ponce.”

Ron tried his hardest to appear unfazed; Hermione still shot a warning look at him. 

“He’s a ponce?” Hermione asked. “How so?”

And then Harry explained the entire story of how he and Draco had met, drowning and all. 

“That is possibly the most adorable story I’ve ever heard,” Hermione said dreamily. Harry’s eyes widened and he felt his face flushing. 

“Adorable?” Ron asked, looking rather disgusted. “Nauseating, I would say.”

“Neither!” Harry said in alarm. “He’s not interested in me, not at all!”

“He’s not?” Hermione asked with a sly grin. “Seems to me that he fancies you as well, Harry. Why else would a filthy rich noble ask you for swim lessons?”

Harry sputtered. “Probably because he’s too ashamed to admit that he can’t swim to someone else of his status.”

“You’re over analyzing it a bit, mate, don’t you think?”

“Wow, Ron!” Hermione said. “I think you might actually know what you’re talking about for once.” 

“No, he doesn’t!” Harry grimaced when Ron shot him a glare. “Sorry, guys, but neither of you do. Why would someone so rich, so gorgeous, so bloody stuck up be interested in me?” 

Ron shrugged.

“You’re not bad looking, Harry,” Hermione said sweetly. “And you’re sweet.” Harry blushed further at her compliment. 

“Bugger off, Hermione,” He mumbled shyly, still unconvinced by their arguments. Draco Malfoy would never, ever, see Harry in such a way. 

“You should ask him to dance,” Ron said plainly. Harry blanched at the thought, but Hermione nodded eagerly. 

“Yes, Harry, you should!”

“No way in Hell am I asking him to dance. I don’t have any robes to wear, anyway, just huge ones of Dudley’s that make me look like a toothpick--”

“I can help you there!” Ron said, puffing out his chest proudly. “Each employee of the castle is given access to the Royal Wardrobe! I’ll get something nice for you.”

“What?” Harry asked, heart leaping. He hadn’t been able to wear anything other than filthy hand-me-downs since...well, forever. 

“I’d be glad to! Hermione, I can get you something too if you’d like!” Ron offered proudly.

“Thank you, Ron, but I can make something for myself.”

Ron seemed a bit dejected at that until Harry spoke up. “Thanks, Ron. I really, really appreciate it.”

His smile returned immediately. “Of course, mate! Where do you live?”

“Er,” Harry said, filling with immediate dread. “Don’t think I’ll be allowed to leave the house on the night of the ball. Hadn’t gotten far enough to plan that out yet, to be honest.”

“Your twat of an uncle is going to keep you locked up?”

“Yeah, actually.”

“Oh, shit. Well in that case I suppose I’d better sneak you out,” Ron said, grinning mischievously. 

“Now, Ron,” Hermione began sternly. “That could get Harry in trouble, or you could lose your job, or--”

“That would be brilliant,” Harry interposed.

“Alright, then. I’ll come get you at sundown, how does that sound?” 

“How exactly are you two idiots going to pull this off?” Hermione asked before Harry could reply, hands on her boyish hips. 

“Dunno. But I have it handled,” Ron said dismissively. Hermione looked towards Harry. 

“And you? What do you have to say about this?”

“Normally I’d rather die than go to a royal ball. But I promised that haughty arse that I’d show up, so. Thanks Ron.”

“No problem.” 

Hermione clucked, disapproving, but Harry noticed a slight smile gracing her lips as she dipped her quill in ink.

~

“You’re not going to the ball, boy, and that’s final!” Vernon shouted at Harry from the kitchen. Harry had tamed his hair as much as he could, and although he had failed miserably Vernon had still picked up on the change. When Harry told him that he was planning on attending, he had laughed in his face.

“And why not?” Harry challenged, staring down at Vernon’s plum figure from atop the banister.

“BECAUSE!” Dudley yelled as he ripped away the coat Vernon was attempting to place around his shoulders. “You’re ugly, stupid, and worthless! I can’t be seen with you!”

Harry sighed in resignation. Fighting wasn’t worth it at this point. He’d assumed that he would be forbidden to attend, which is why he had worked out a rendezvous for Ron. Harry had doubts that he would even show up, so he prepared himself for the worst. The worst? Harry thought, grimly. Since when was the worst not being able to go to a horrid ball? 

And so, Harry was pleasantly surprised when he heard a stone bounce off of his chamber window that night. He rushed downstairs, booming footsteps disrupting the silent evening. He yanked the door open only to be greeted by a very-fancy Ron. He donned a sparkling, golden placard engraved with a grand “M” and glittering gauntlets. 

“Ron! You came!” Harry said, ignoring the temptation to pull his friend into a tight hug. Ron scratched the back of his head, smiling sheepishly, and declared: ‘“‘Course I did. A knight always keeps his promises!”

“ 'Spose they do. Uh, come in,” Harry said, cringing. “I’m afraid it’s pretty ghastly in here.”

Ron snorted, looking around the manor which, although large, had decayed with time. “You should see where I grew up. Mom and dad call it the Burrow, which I’d say is a fitting name.” 

“I bet it’s great,” Harry said as he gestured for Ron to sit on the dusty couch. 

“Hardly, but it’s home. We aren’t going up to your room?”

Harry went pink and began picking at the hangnail on his left thumb. “Er. I don’t have a room.” 

Ron’s mouth dropped open. “What? Where do you sleep?”

“On the floor,” Harry replied, humiliated. God, why did he think this was a good idea? Ron was a knight, someone of a much higher status than he--

“Bloody hell, that’s terrible. And you’ve been doing that your whole life?”

“Since my parents died and I lost my magic, yeah.”

“Merlin,” Ron seemed to calm down, then, and he smiled. “All the more reason for you to enjoy a fancy night, then.”

Harry breathed out a sigh of relief. Ron didn’t mock him, didn’t seem to be looking down upon him, and Harry felt like flying. 

“Thanks, Ron.”

“Sure thing! Here, look at what I brought you,” Ron opened a leather satchel that he’d slung around his shoulder and pulled out a white, high-collared dress robe with shining golden buttons and silk embroidery. Harry had never seen something so fancy in his life, aside from Draco himself, and he couldn’t hide his shock. 

“Blimey,” Harry said. “You really did mean it when you said you’d bring me nice robes.”

“Fantastic, aren’t they! First thing I thought of when I saw them. And we can have as many as we want!” Ron said dreamily. “Can’t believe I got this damned job, Harry. Best thing that’s ever happened to me.” 

Harry grinned.

“Put it on!” Ron said.

Harry obeyed. He walked into the kitchen, shed his rags, and dressed himself in the fancy robes. After conquering the seemingly endless amount of buttons, Harry succeeded. He marvelled at the feel of the soft material on his skin and moved his limbs around; it was tight, but not unbearable. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror above the sink; he looked...fancy. Rich. Good. He walked out into the living room, feeling more handsome than he’d ever had, and Ron gave him two thumbs up. 

“Looking good, mate. Draco will be all over you.” 

Harry reddened. “Doubt it. But thanks.” 

“You’ll see. Ready to go? Got you a footmen and everything, it’s pretty incredible.”

“Ron- you didn’t need to--”

“Let’s go!” Ron yanked Harry outside and gestured towards the grand carriage that awaited them. It matched Harry’s robes; it was a creamy shade of ivory and seemed to be encrusted in gold. Two black stallions, all muscle, stood still and complaint in front of the footmen, who donned a silly white wig and glossy shoes. Harry was rendered speechless; all he could do was follow Ron inside.

He started when he saw that Hermione was inside of the carriage as well, dressed in a flowing white dress that made her appear almost ethereal. Her hair was smoothed back and her eyes were dusted with a sparkling powder. 

“Hermione! What are you doing here? You look...nice,” Harry said, in awe. She giggled, covering her mouth with a silk glove. 

“Thank you, Harry. I made the dress from my mother’s old one,” She smoothed out her skirt. “You look wonderful too, Harry! Like a Prince.”

Harry snorted, feeling flattered all the same. “Thanks. How did Ron coax you into coming along?”

“I couldn’t show up in my mother’s carriage, could I? I’d probably be lynched!”

“Oh, yeah,” Harry mumbled, feeling awkward now. He seemed to forget that Hermione was a Muggleborn. Hermione didn’t seem fazed, however; her glossed lips still formed a gentle smile. 

Ron bellowed something at the footmen and the three were off, horses clopping along at a steady pace. It didn’t take long for them to arrive at the castle. Harry was almost appalled at how unnecessarily large the building was. He’d expected something more classy, more delicate; but to Harry, the castle just looked like an extremely overbearing hunk of brick. The Royal Family’s crest, a bold ‘M’ surrounded by serpents, waved proudly from the highest tower of the castle. The amount of knights blocking the entrance was just excessive; there had to have been at least fifty of them. Harry wondered idly how much knights like Ron got paid. 

“Pretty great, isn’t it?” Ron asked, beaming with pride. Harry and Hermione looked at each other, grimacing simultaneously. 

“Yes, Ronald, it’s spectacular. Can we go?” 

Ron grumbled at Hermione’s demand but obliged, sliding the carriage door open and stepping out. He reached a metal-clad hand out and helped Hermione down.

“So chivalrous,” Hermione observed. “Part of your knightly code, I presume?”

“Shut it, ‘Mione. C’mon, Harry.”

Harry stepped out on his own, practically tripping in his bulky shoes in the process, and the three made their way over the daunting, wooden door of the castle. Two knights, completely still and quiet, held axes up to their chests. Harry paled; Ron, however, seemed very pleased to see them. 

“Evening Dean, evening Seamus. These are the guests I told you about.”

Harry laughed when the knights let them through immediately, not uttering a single word; they must have been Ron’s friends. 

Before Harry could even so much as take in his surroundings, Ron leaned over towards his ear and whispered: “You stay behind. Hermione and I are going to walk in first, and you need to make an entrance. For Draco.” 

Harry, flustered, uttered out a desperate “What?!” only to see that Ron and Hermione had gone on ahead, arm in arm. Traitors, Harry thought with a huff. He cursed under his breath, completely alone now, and stared at the scene before him. At least a hundred people, all dressed in absurdly flamboyant clothing, were dancing to a rather obnoxious symphony. No one had noticed him, at least not yet; he was obscured by the shadow of the silver awning above him. He waited for a few moments, allowing a three more royals to pass him, and then made his way down the staircase. 

His mind was so busy processing the erratic beating of his own heart that he failed to notice the sudden silence of the dance hall. Once he finally gathered the courage to tear his gaze away from the marble floor, however, he was shocked to see that all eyes were on him. Is it because I’m late? Harry thought dazedly as he scanned the room. He couldn’t see Draco and his heart sunk; perhaps he had decided not to come after all. One figure, however, did stand out to him. The Prince stood in the middle of the hall, turned towards Harry. He wore a navy blue masquerade mask and matching robes that fit his slender frame excellently, and his blond hair was slicked back behind his ears. The same shade as Draco’s, Harry thought. The Prince was dancing with a young lady in a fluffy purple dress until Harry met his eyes. He seemed to freeze, then, and immediately released the purple-dress girl and began walking towards Harry, who suddenly could not move his legs. Why would he be coming over here? Harry thought, stunned. He realized with a start that he should probably bow, so he began to bend his knees; however the Prince held up a gloved hand indicating that he stop at once.

“Oh, you don’t want me to…” Harry trailed off, realizing how stupid he probably sounded. “Sorry, Your Highness, but I’ve never met a royal before. I suppose I’m not sure what I should do.”

The Prince said nothing, just staring at Harry through his mask. Harry wondered why he was wearing it, why he was obscuring his eyes from view, until The Prince beckoned him over and jerked him out of his train of thought. 

“Me?” Harry pointed to himself, rather stiff. 

He scoffed and nodded, like it should have been obvious. So Harry numbly made his way over to the Prince, who still refused to utter a word. Strange. 

Why me? Was all Harry could think as the Prince allowed him to place his hands around his waist. He was lean, but toned; Harry could feel the warmth of skin through satin dress robes. Despite not being able to see his face, Harry had a feeling that the Prince was probably gorgeous (if his body and complexion were any indication). Not as gorgeous as Draco, of course, but still gorgeous, Harry thought. He shuddered, suddenly realizing how sickeningly smitten he had become in the last few weeks. 

The Prince was quiet, refusing to utter even a word, and he moved with a certain grace that Harry had only ever read about. His limbs were quick, tactile, calculated; they somehow guided Harry, who had absolutely no idea how to dance. One foot pushed back, one foot gliding forward; to an outsider, it might have seemed as though Harry actually knew what he was doing. The Prince’s hand was clasped tightly around his, skin so soft and clean that Harry couldn’t help but wonder if he had ever touched a broom in his life. Their feet echoed on the sparkling, tile floors and Harry was keenly aware of the hundreds of eyes on his back. The Prince, however, was unfazed. He continued on without so much as a backwards glance, movements gracile and sure. 

Soon, Harry was lost in the music. The Prince’s muted perfume and gentle, repetitive melodies lulled him into some sort of stupor; soon the absurdly grandiose clock above him chimed eleven-thirty. He was startled when the Prince leaned impossibly closer, mouth ghosting against the shell of Harry’s ear, and whispered: “Follow me”. 

The Prince grabbed his hand before he could protest and pulled him away from the crowd. Countless murmurs shadowed their path until the Prince had taken them to some sort of empty hallway complete with ornamental marble and gold-framed portraits. The ceiling was high and Harry had never seen anything so obnoxiously gaudy. 

Only then did the Prince seem bashful. He stared up at Harry rather expectantly, as if he wanted him to make the first move. From what Harry could see beneath the feathered mask, the bottom of his cheeks were flushed. Harry was suddenly breathless. 

“Oh. Do you...want me to…?” He asked throatily. The Prince nodded, still keeping quiet. Harry took a cautious step toward him, head spinning. The Prince, the second most powerful, prestigious man in the entire kingdom, wanted a kiss from Harry? Harry? Well, Harry thought as he rested a tentative hand on the Prince’s waist (again) , I’m not going to turn him down. 

So Harry placed a gentle kiss to the Prince’s lips. They were softer than the chemise scarf around his neck and Harry instantly felt the urge to fall into them, to taste them further, only to remember that this was the fucking Prince. So, despite himself, he pulled away, breaths quick. 

“Do you...have me confused for someone else? I’m a servant, you know. I can’t use magic,” Harry said. 

The Prince said nothing; he just stood there, shadowed eyes boring into Harry’s own. Although Harry was beginning to find this behavior rather strange, he did not have time to dwell on the matter for the Prince had grabbed his collar, hands trembling with what Harry could only describe as sheer want. Merlin, Harry thought as he stared at the man in front of him, awestruck. 

“Okay, okay,” Harry muttered, leaning in to capture the Prince’s lips once again. “I’ve got the message, uh, Your Highness. I’ll kiss you.” 

A small, almost inaudible whimper escaped the Prince’s lips at Harry’s words and his grip went lax. Harry took this opportunity to gently press the Pliant Prince against the wall. He was so delicate, so pristine, that Harry thought he might break him if he used anymore force. The Prince, however, almost demanded it, practically yanking Harry closer and placing his hands on his hipbones. Harry blinked quickly, trying to clear away the sudden heat pooling in his groin. The Prince was just so needy, Harry could probably make him beg if he wanted to, just like he had imagined he could do with Draco. The Prince was blond, too, and a similar height; so naturally Harry could not help but allow his thoughts to wander. And when the Prince allowed himself to be manhandled by Harry, it was almost too much; Harry granted himself the pleasure of abruptly slotting his thigh between the Prince’s legs and biting a kiss into his pale neck. The Prince moaned, allowing his voice to be heard for the first time during this encounter, and fuck, he even sounded like Draco. Part of Harry wanted the Prince to keep the mask on so that Harry could immerse himself in his own twisted imagination, but he knew that would only serve as fuel for his unwelcome desires. 

“C’mon,” Harry panted, drawing him closer to his body. He could feel the Prince’s hardness through his velvet trousers and he shivered, pressing his mouth close to his ear. “Take off the mask.”

The Prince shivered at the forcefulness of Harry’s demand but shook his head. Hm, Harry thought with a smirk. Perhaps the Prince is imagining someone too. 

“Come on, Your Highness,” Harry mumbled as he trailed a sloppy kiss down The Prince’s collar bone. “Let me see you.” 

This time, Harry went ahead and made the decision himself, reaching his hand behind the Prince’s head and pulling the lace bow apart before The Prince could protest. 

Grey eyes. Grey, needy, and very familiar eyes met his. 

“Oh fuck!” Harry exclaimed, untangling himself immediately. “You’re actually...oh Merlin!”

Draco just stared at Harry, eyes huge and lust-blown, and said nothing. Harry gaped and assumed that he must be dreaming; of course this wasn’t real, it couldn’t be real. He could not have been cursing at, insulting, and fucking around with the goddamn Prince this entire time. He couldn’t have. 

But sure enough, the man in front of him was indeed Draco. More dolled up, perhaps, but most definitely him. 

All Harry could think to do was run. He turned around, ignoring Draco’s calls of “WAIT” and “POTTER!”. He didn’t look back, noticing absently that the large grandfather clock above him had just struck midnight. He laughed ruefully when one of his shining loafers flew off. He did not stop to pick it up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS CHAPTER WAS SO FUN TO WRITE BA DA BOOM, HARRY KNOWS DRACO'S THE PRINCEE!!!!!!!! And the fanfic is finally starting to live up to its rating lol. Prepare yourself for smut soon. Also, in case you can't tell by now, I love torturing readers with cliffhangers.   
> Not beta'd, I apologize for any spelling/grammar mistakes. With college stuff we just don't have much time to edit.  
> There may or may not be some hermione/pansy in the next chapter, hehe ;)   
> As always, I really hope you enjoyed!! Please please comment below and let us know if you did, it means the world to us!!!!


	6. Chapter VI: A Chase and an Embrace

“He hates me, Pans, he hates me!” Draco moaned, head in his best friend’s lap. She twirled a silvery strand of his hair between her fingers. 

“He doesn’t hate you, Draco. He was probably just shocked.” 

“He thinks I’m a liar! He already thinks I’m a stuck-up ponce as it is, now I’ve just gone and made things worse!”

“Well, you are a stuck-up ponce. But I don’t think he minds,” She snickered, ruffling Draco hair affectionately.

“Fuck off, Pansy!” Draco wailed, flinging one of his arms out dramatically and practically ripping Pansy’s pearl necklace off in the process. “This is serious!”

“Do you really want my advice or do you just want to cry on me?”

Draco growled, “I’m not crying!”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Draco crossed his arms and huffed. “Fine! Your advice, I want it. Give me your damned advice.”

“Ask nicely.” 

“I’m still the Prince, you know! I could have your family in debt by tomorrow evening if I wanted to!”

She rolled her eyes, which were painted green and lined with black. “So intimidating. Here’s my ‘damned’ advice, you fussy thing: Go. Find. Him.”

“What? Are you suggesting I--”

“Yes, I am suggesting that you chase him down. Apologize. Explain to him that he shouldn’t treat you any differently. Isn’t that why you kept it from him in the first place?”

“I told him I was the Prince more than once actually! He’s just so thick that he didn’t believe me!” 

“Come off it, Draco. You could have proved it to him, easily. You didn’t want him to know.” 

Draco was silent for a moment. He sighed, sitting up languidly. “Alright, alright! I’ll go find him! But I’ll order Father to behead you if this makes things worse.”

Pansy just shook her head, silver earrings dangling about. Draco was about to get up, only to remember something and flop back down onto Pany’s lap. 

“Pansy, I’ve been meaning to ask you. I saw you dancing with a girl at the ball. You know, before Harry and I...left. Who was she?”

Pansy giggled like a schoolgirl, eyes suddenly twinkling with a youthfulness that Draco hadn’t seen for years. “That was Hermione Granger. She’s a librarian’s assistant. She’s quite sexy, isn’t she?” 

Draco made a face. “She’s not much to my taste. And by that I mean, she has breasts.” 

Pansy winked. “And that is exactly why she’s my taste.”

“You’re disgusting,” Draco said, smiling despite himself. 

“Oh yes, I am. My mother would be appalled if she knew I’d messed around with a Muggleborn at the ball!”

“Hold on, Pansy. A Muggleborn?!”

“Yes, Draco! Did I stutter? A Muggleborn. Smarter than any other witch of her kind I’ve ever come across.”

In the past, Draco would have made a stink about Hermione’s blood status and her biological inferiority, but today he decided to keep his mouth shut. And if that had something to do with the image of Harry that suddenly appeared in his mind, no one would ever know. 

“Hmm, well,” Draco cleared his throat. “To each his own, I suppose.” 

“At least I don’t fancy a Squib.”

“He’s not a Squib, Pansy!”

“I know he’s not. I could sense his magic from a mile away. I just like to rile you up. Now, if you’ve finished interrogating me about my romantic endeavors, I’ll leave you to go track down...what was his name? Perry?”

“It’s Harry, you damn shrew.”

“That’s Marquise Shrew to you, Draco!”

Pansy stood up, practically forcing Draco off. Her chocolate brown locks bounced around her shoulders as waved daintily before making a swift exit to Merlin knows where, heels clopping down the corridor. 

~

Once Harry returned to an empty manor, he plopped down in front of the fire and shivered as the information sunk in. Merlin, Draco had been the fucking Prince this entire time? Harry could have been arrested for treason with how flat out disrespectful he had been over the course of their interactions. He would have felt betrayed if it wasn’t for the fact that Draco (or rather, His Highness) actually had referred to himself as the Prince on multiple occasions; Harry just hadn’t taken him seriously. Why was it that Harry felt so sure of himself in those moments? His chest ached with a dull detachment. Although he had known from the start that Draco would never return his unwarranted feelings, he had allowed himself to hope, if only slightly. Now, however, he was confident of that fact. A Squib and a Prince? Yeah, right. 

He sighed, still shaken, and pulled out his book of Dangerous Magical Items. A distraction, he thought. That’s what I need. He blew a thin layer of dust off of the purple cover and thumbed through the pages halfheartedly. He laughed humorlessly at his sudden mental image of Hermione berating him for allowing a book to become so dirty. 

 

~

Harry woke up still dressed in his fancy clothes, which were now squashed and wrinkled in awkward places. When did I fall asleep? He thought as he yawned and threaded his fingers through his tangled mop of hair. 

The events of last night hit him like a freight train. The Prince. Draco Malfoy was the Prince. Harry shook his head in an attempt to clear his racing thoughts, and when this failed he knew what he needed to do. Ron and Hermione. He needed to tell Ron and Hermione about this. With that thought in mind, Harry rolled off of the cold floor and stood, gingerly removing his soiled robes. He dug an old (and thankfully clean) undershirt of Dudley’s out of a chest, and dressed himself. He practically ran to the library, having known the way by heart now, and almost tripped when pushing open the heavy wooden doors. 

Hermione spun around and scowled at Harry’s loud entrance. He grimaced and mouthed “Sorry!” and that seemed to do the trick; her sharp features relaxed into a warm smile. Luckily, Ron was there as well, and Harry couldn’t help but wonder if he fancied Hermione. Why else would he come so often? 

“Hey,” Harry whispered, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow as he approached his two friends. “Can I talk to you guys about something?”

“I’m on duty, Harry. I’m helping Mr. Longbottom here find our top selections on Herbology,” Hermione said sternly. And sure enough, there was Neville, waving awkwardly at Harry and struggling to hold his huge pile of books in the process. Harry nodded at him and turned his attention back to an agitated Hermione. 

 

“It’s...important,” Harry said a bit helplessly.

“Neville, do you mind if Harry here borrows Hermione for a bit?” Ron cut in, earning him a sharp glare from the witch.

“S-Sure,” Neville said, looking rather dejected. Harry couldn’t bring himself to feel guilty; Neville could get his herbology books later. Hermione sighed but begrudgingly followed Harry and Ron outside. The air was warm and soupy, immediately making Harry a bit sleepy. 

“So?” Hermione snapped, arms crossed. “What was so important that you had to interrupt our quest for knowledge?” 

Ron snorted but shut up immediately when Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. 

“Well, uh, I suppose you two were wondering where I went at the ball.” 

“I’d just assumed you got laid,” Ron said, sucking in a breath of pain when Hermione elbowed him. 

“Yes, Harry, we were wondering where you had gone,” Hermione said sweetly. Ron rolled his eyes and mumbled under his breath: 

 

“You didn’t seem to be wondering anything except how to unbutton Pansy’s dress.”

Hermione turned pink immediately, hissing out a “Shut up, Ron!”

“What--” Harry began. 

“Later,” Hermione said quickly. “I’ll tell you about my night later, if you must know. But you first.”

Harry swallowed. It was one thing to come to terms with the fact, and another to vocalize it. “He’s the Prince.”

“Who’s the Prince?’ Hermione and Ron asked simultaneously. 

“Draco! We were...you know, doing stuff in the hallway and I took the Prince’s mask off and it was...yeah!”

Silence. Ron seemed to be calculating, eyebrows scrunched in confusion. Hermione, on the other hand, was on the cusps of laughter; she was covering her mouth with her dark hand. “Harry,” She said. “That’s...incredible! I can't believe this!”

“Hold on…” Ron said slowly, eyes flitting between the other two. “The Prince. You were making out with the Prince?!”

“Yeah! But he’s...the Prince is Draco!” 

“What?!” Ron seemed have worked it out, now. “ You mean...the Draco you’ve been talking about is the bloody Prince?!” 

“Yes, Ron, that’s what he said,” Hermione said, tapping her heeled shoe against the pavement. “This is fantastic!”

“Fantastic?” Ron said, eyes still wide. “Better than fantastic, I’d say. You can marry him and be filthy rich for the rest of your life.”

“I can’t marry him,” Harry said dejectedly. “He wouldn’t want to marry me, I’m a commoner. I can’t even use magic, remember?” 

“Of course we remember, Harry,” Hermione said, more serious now. “But he loves you. I’m sure of it.”

Now it was Harry’s turn to snort. “Yeah, okay, Hermione. Probably didn’t even want to kiss me, he probably just had too much punch or something.”

“Don’t be daft, Harry!” Hermione said, whacking Harry on the head with her parchment. Harry grimaced. 

“She’s right, you know,” Ron said. “He wants you.”

Harry reddened. “No, he doesn’t! Now, if you two don’t mind I have places to be!”

“You’re the one who came here desperate to talk about this,” Hermione said curtly, but without any venom. “But all right.”

Ron shrugged at Hermione as Harry turned around and walked out, trying to calm his rapidlybeating heart. 

 

~

Draco pounded on the rickety door of Potter’s house and tapped his foot as he waited for a response. When no one greeted him, he knocked once again, Harry’s loafer in his left hand. 

“WHO THE BLOODY HELL IS KNOCKING ON MY DOOR AT THIS TIME OF NIGHT?!” A booming voice met Draco’s ears and the muted light of a candle flickered to life behind the dusty stained-glass window. 

“Your Prince, Dursley.I suggest you show me more respect, or my Father will hear about this.” Draco said, wrinkling his nose in disgust. 

There was a moment of silence and Draco could have sworn that he heard a slew of muffled curse words. Then the door swung open, practically hitting Draco in the nose, only to reveal the stout gumdrop of a man he had (unfortunately) met once before. Vernon Dursley looked up at him with terror in his eyes, swollen cheeks a nauseating reddish-purple. 

“Your Grace, your Royal Highness, I apologise from the bottom of my heart. Had I known it was you, such a pleasure, I would not have--”

“Shut your mouth, commoner. Is Harry here?”

Vernon’s eyes widened. “That Squib? What could you possibly want from him?!” 

“His company and forgiveness. Now tell me. Is. He. Here.” Draco slammed his serpent-encrusted scepter into the wooden floor, which vibrated under their feet and caused Vernon to flinch rather pathetically. 

“N-no, Your Lordship, I haven't seen him since yesterday evening.” 

“And you didn't bother to look?” Draco asked coldly, repressing the urge to spit on the groveling sod who was practically licking his shoes. 

“We...we did not think a useless boy such as him was worth worrying about, surely you agree Your Highness, his magic is--”

“I know damn well about his magic,” Draco spat, voice pure venom. “Never show your smarmy face anywhere near my Castle again, or I swear I'll have you executed.” 

The color had drained from Vernon’s cheeks and he swallowed, sinking impossibly closer to the ground. “Y-Yes, your Highness. Of course.” 

Draco turned away with a swish of his green robes and resisted the urge to kick dirt in Vernon’s face. Now, he thought determinedly and he stomped away from the poor excuse of a home, if I was an idiotic fool by the name of Harry Potter, where would I hide? Draco pondered his options. The market place was completely deserted now, being well past 12 o'clock midnight, so that was out of the question. And then it dawned on him. The river! Draco began running almost immediately, cursing loudly whenever his heeled boots caught in the gravelly turf beneath him. 

He managed to get there in a few minutes. The moon was full, illuminating the scene in front of him. And sure enough, there was Harry, staring up into the endless sky like Draco had seen him do so many times before. Green, Draco thought for the hundredth time as he quietly took in Harry’s glowing features. He’d never seen eyes so green. As Harry continued craning his neck upwards, sloshing his feet about in the black water, Draco wondered if perhaps he was wishing for something, or flying somewhere else. Maybe he needed a broomstick. 

Draco cleared his throat and Harry just about jumped out of his skin. “Draco?! I-I mean, Your Highness?! What the hell are you doing here, it’s the middle of the night--”

Draco held up a decadent hand, silver nails glinting in the moonlight.”I came to find you, Potter. And call me Draco,” his voice wavered slightly. “Please.” Draco cringed inwardly at how pathetic he sounded, how desperate. 

“Fine, Draco! How did you even know where I’d be?”

Draco rolled his eyes, pale lashes glinting. “How would I not know? You practically live here.”

Harry snorted, still avoiding Draco’s gaze. “You’re not wrong.”

An awkward silence fell upon them. The only sounds permeating the stillness were the soft croaking of frogs and the whispering current. 

“I...I felt I should apologize, for keeping my.... position from you,” Draco mumbled, cheeks hot. Apologizing was not one of his strengths. 

“What?” Harry asked, finally turning around and looking at him incredulously. “I should be apologizing, I’ve disrespected you, I’ve insulted you, I’ve--”

“Shown me how to be a decent human being?” Before Harry could stammer out a reply, Draco continued. “I regret nothing. And although it’s rather obvious, I suppose this needs saying.” Draco tried in vain to keep his voice steady and failed. “I...am...absurdly attracted to you, Potter. Someone of my blood status feeling this way is unheard of, but I figure there’s no use in denying it, i-is there?” 

Harry said nothing, eyes huge. Draco figured he was flushing, though the dim night muted it. 

“Well, Potter, say something!” 

“Er...I...You’re attracted to me?”

Draco rolled his eyes theatrically, blowing his un-gelled blond hair away from his face. “No, you imbecile. I cornered you at the ball for fun. Yes, I’m fucking attracted to you!” Draco knew he was bright red, now, and despite his strong posture all he wanted to do was curl in on himself.

“I thought maybe you didn’t recognize me, didn’t...but, uh, yeah. I’m the same. I mean, I’m attracted to you, too,” Harry swallowed, adam’s apple bobbing. 

Draco nodded stiffly. “Good, good. Who wouldn’t be?” 

Harry snorted and huffed out a laugh, and all the tension in the air immediately dissipated. 

“So are you going to come over here or do I have to push you into the river to get my hands on you?” Harry smirked, suddenly sly. Draco sputtered, face hot, but said nothing and walked awkwardly towards Harry. He sat down cautiously, grimacing at the scrape of his embroidered robes against the dirt and grass. 

“Afraid you’ll mess up your clothes?” Harry said patronizingly, eyeing Draco up and down. “Ron tells me you have an endless supply.”

“Who the bloody hell is Ron?” Draco asked, staring unabashedly at the man beside him. “Aren’t you freezing? You’re in shorts!” 

Harry raised an eyebrow and considered Draco’s words. “Haven’t been cold at all for the past few days, not sure why. I feel rather warm, actually.”

Draco narrowed his eyes. It was cold enough for his breath to freeze in the air, coming out in puffs; he was chilly even in his multiple layers. “Do you?”

“Uh, yeah. Guess I’m just...a warm person?”

Or, Draco thought with a dizzying surge of hope. It’s your magic. 

“Are you going to kiss me, Potter? Or does my royal blood and powerful magic intimidate you--”

Harry cut him off, placing his large hands on the back of Draco’s head and pulling him in for a rough, uncoordinated kiss. His lips were warm, and they slotted against Draco’s perfectly; he instantly craved more of it. Draco's prayers were answered immediately when Harry deepened the kiss, curling his fingers at the base of Draco’s neck, and sighed. Draco shuddered at the rush of Harry’s breath against his cheek, and Harry smirked against his hair. Draco made an embarrassing noise (how could that even have came from him?) when Harry slipped a hand under Draco’s thick robes and began tracing his fingers across the pale skin of his abdomen. 

“So soft,” Harry breathed, and Draco’s lean muscles fluttered under his touch. 

“S-Shut up, Potter, you--” 

Draco gasped when Harry placed a kiss against his neck, gentle but somehow dirtier than anything Draco had experienced. Harry was smiling against him, he could feel it, and damn him for being such a smug arsehole about this--

“Beautiful,” Harry whispered, swiping his thumb across Draco’s swollen bottom lip and short circuiting his train of thought. And then Harry’s hand, warm and sure, found it's way to Draco’s increasingly tight trousers. “I’d hardly touched you last time, at the ball, and you were already a mess, just like this.”

Draco, trembling now, allowed Harry to manhandle him onto the ground. Before he had time to whine about the condition of his clothes, Harry was on top of him, heavy and warm and strong and--

Draco whimpered pathetically when he felt Harry’s clothed erection pushing against his own. His legs spread slightly as if on instinct and Harry groaned, burying his head in the crook of Draco’s slender neck. 

“You’re so fucking hot like this, Draco,” Harry murmured, grinding against Draco only slightly. Not enough, Draco thought desperately as he grabbed onto Harry’s collar and yanked, hoping to get the message across without words. 

Harry chuckled and Draco was too turned on to even care, in fact the vibrations of Harry’s laughter went straight to his dick. He let out an embarrassing squeak when Harry found the buttons on his outerwear. 

“Eager, aren’t you?” Harry asked while struggling with the buttons. “God, why do you wear so much fucking clothes all the time?” He hissed, practically tearing Draco’s first layer off in frustration. Draco took in a shuddering breath, feeling the hot outline of Harry’s cock against his thigh. It...was a generous size, Draco could tell, and suddenly his legs turned to jelly. But Harry couldn’t know that, he’d already humiliated himself enough, so he gathered every ounce of self discipline he had left.

“Because I have class, unlike y--” But Draco failed to finish his sentence, choking out a moan when Harry repositioned his hips to line up perfectly with Draco’s once again. He leaned down, capturing Draco’s open mouth in a dirty kiss that was all tongue, and then pulled away only to whisper: 

“Not so smart when you're thinking about me getting you off, are you?” 

Fuck, Draco thought, stifling a moan. Get him off. Harry was going to get him off. 

“You don’t have to hold back, Draco. I can see how bad you want it, so go ahead and make all the noise you want.”

Draco shivered and nodded pliantly, avoiding Harry’s eyes. 

“Good, Draco. So fucking gorgeous,” Harry mumbled almost drunkenly, and Draco couldn’t take it anymore, all he could think about was how Harry would feel inside of him, how full he’d be. 

“Please,” Draco begged wantonly, arching his hips up to meet Harry’s. “I n-need you to…” 

“Hmm?” Harry asked devilishly, hands tracing the hot outline of Draco’s cock through his velvet trousers. “Please what?” 

“Don’t...make me ask you, Potter,” Draco said in an attempt to preserve some of his dignity. Harry only laughed, sitting up and removing himself from Draco in a swift movement. 

“No!” Draco practically yelled, embarrassment creeping up his spine as soon as the word left his mouth. Harry only grinned, eyes glinting. Bastard, Draco thought. 

“Ask nicely.” 

Draco glared at him. His cock was throbbing and all he could think about was what Harry’s calloused fingers would feel like inside of him, so he caved. “P-Please, Harry, I need you in--” Draco could barely choke the words out. “Inside me. Please.”

Harry was still for a moment, eyes suddenly wide. “Oh, shit. I didn’t expect you to actually--shit.” 

Before Draco could reply, Harry was on top of him again, tugging at Draco’s trousers and finally pulling them off. It was freezing, but somehow Harry’s hard body radiated warmth. 

“Oh,” Draco gasped when Harry shoved his hands into Draco’s underclothes and grabbed his cock. Harry released a shuddering breath; Draco could have came right then when he realized that Harry was just as far gone as he was. 

“You’re already wet for me? Little bit of a slut, aren’t you?”

Draco shivered, cock twitching. Why the hell was he getting off on being called a slut? Then Harry began to jerk him off, slow, tantalizing, and Draco felt every ounce of sanity he had left leave his brain. Harry knew exactly what he was doing; he knew where to squeeze, where to tug, and Draco was embarrassingly close already. But he wanted more, wanted Harry inside him, so he parted his legs as a silent plea. Harry groaned at the sight, hand fluttering around Draco’s dripping cock. “Fuck, you’re killing me. We can’t--I can’t do that, I don’t have anything--”

“I don’t care!” Draco whined, pushing up into Harry’s hand. “I want you to fuck me, Potter!” 

Harry tensed up and then he was kissing Draco sloppily, breaths quick. “Next time, sweetheart.” When Draco moaned in protest, Harry shushed him quietly, biting at his pink lips. “I can’t hurt you, alright? Will you be good for me and wait until next time?” He panted.

Draco calmed down, body relaxing, and he nodded. Harry kissed the side of his mouth tenderly and Draco’s hips bucked involuntarily. He was going to lose it, too soon, and He hadn’t even felt Harry’s cock yet. He wasn’t having that, so his trembling hands found their way to Harry’s fly and pulled his thick member out. It was heavy in Draco’s hand, just the right size to fill him up and fuck him properly. 

“God, Draco. Fuck,” Harry gasped. A sick sense of satisfaction warmed Draco’s chest at Harry’s reaction; two could play at this game. Draco sucked on his own fingers for a moment, wetting them, and then began stroking Harry’s cock in time with his own. 

Harry grunted, increasing his speed. Draco was gasping for breath, now, as Harry’s hand twisted in all the right ways. 

“P-Potter, I’m going to…” He trailed off, face pink.

“Shit, me too, God you’re so fucking sexy--”

And then Draco’s orgasm hit him hard. Wave after wave of intense pleasure pulsed through his body, Harry’s hand working him through every second of it. His thoughts were white, and Draco could have screamed, he wasn’t sure. Once the high wore off and Harry’s hand had left him, he sunk down on the soft grass and tried to calm his breathing. Only then did he realize that his hand was sticky with Harry’s come. 

“You...you too?” Draco asked in his post-orgasmic haze. Harry nodded sleepily against his neck, and Draco could have sworn that he’d never felt so content in his entire existence. With the welcome weight and warmth of Harry’s body, Draco felt himself dozing off despite their current location. He shook his head, trying to clear away the cobwebs, but Harry kissed him gently, almost pulling him back into his trance. 

“Potter,” Draco said weakly, trying and failing to push Harry off. “I must return to my castle, Father is probably terrified.” 

Harry grumbled and only pulled Draco closer. “Stay,” he said, voice gravelly, and so fucking sexy that Draco shivered again, a pang of arousal muddling his senses further despite the fact that he’d just came. 

“I…” Draco choked out when Harry absently stroked his fingers across Draco’s exposed thigh. “Can't. I can't.” 

Harry sighed, removing himself from Draco slowly. Draco, embarrassingly, felt his throat constrict at the loss.

“Well,” Harry said, “Thought it’d at least be worth a try.” 

Draco tried to speak, but his voice failed him. Harry seemed to notice and smiled down at him reassuringly, beauty wild and otherworldly. He tucked a strand of Draco’s disheveled hair behind his ear. Draco's breath caught in his throat because Harry’s eyes were impossibly soft and tender, full of...love?

“Shh, it’s alright, you idiot. I understand,” His voice was low, musical almost, and Draco's chest ached. “But I won't give up, I hope you know that. Magic or not.” 

Draco just swallowed, chest constricting, and leaned into Harry’s touch. 

He knew then that he had to tell his father that he had fallen in love with Harry Potter, the lowly servant. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HERE IT IS!!! THE FIRST INSTALLMENT OF SMUT. i was so happy to finally RESOLVE THE SEXUAL TENSION! sort of.  
> Anyway, I hope this chapter was satisfying!! Prepare yourself for some forbidden love angst and a plot twist next chapter...the story only has about 3-4 chapters left. There may be some bumps in the road but remember, it's a fairy tale, so there will be a happy ending. Thank you for reading and sticking with us! <3


	7. Chapter VII: A Warning and a Visitor

Draco felt as though he had been lying beneath his satin sheets for an eternity. In reality, however, it’d only been a few hours, but time seemed impossible to measure when all he could think about was the way Harry’s hands had felt on his skin the night before. Draco groaned into his pillow, feeling hot and restless. He’d never been so attracted to another person before, never so completely infatuated, and he hated everything about it. Why would he, a Prince, have his heart set on someone so unattainable? He could have anyone he wanted, man or woman, and yet all he could think about was Potter. He was undeniably turned on; even the mere thought of Harry pressed against him had him hard and yearning. 

He groaned into his pillow, shuddering slightly. He wanted to get off. He really, really, wanted to get off; but there were more important matters at hand. 

He’d been prolonging the inevitable by wasting away in bed all afternoon. Telling his father about Harry was not going to end well for him, but what else was he supposed to do? His father was waiting impatiently for Draco’s choice so that he could marry his son off as soon as possible, to the person most beneficial to their royal legacy. But Draco couldn’t be with anyone else, not now, not after last night. Draco grumbled, willing his stubborn problem away, and only after dunking his head in the frigid water of his washroom basin did his traitorous body finally listen to him. 

Finally, summoning what little courage he had, Draco stood up. He rubbed his own arms and threw on some particularly ornamental robes (the ones his Father had chosen for him years ago) in hopes of winning his favor. He rolled his eyes at his own ridiculousness. Like his father would ever remember or appreciate such a thing. He sighed, gelled his hair back with a generous glob, and walked stiffly to his father’s study. 

He knocked once, twice, and then: “Who knocks?”

Draco cleared his throat. “It’s me, Father.”

There was a tense moment of silence and then the door flew open. Lucius’ eyes were cold and empty as usual.

“What brings you here, my son? Have you made your decision?”

Draco’s heart pounded in his ears as he fought to keep eye contact with the King. “Y-Yes, I have.” 

Lucius smiled without an ounce of warmth. “Excellent. Come in, Draco.”

Draco followed obediently and sat delicately on one of his father’s silver-encrusted chairs. Lucius took a seat across from him and folded his hands together with grace. 

“I trust that you’ve chosen well. Tell me, Draco.” 

Draco felt a bead of sweat drip down the side of his forehead and into his shirt. He wanted to get up and run, to grab Potter and travel far away and never return home. 

“I-I...um. I’ve chosen a boy named Harry Potter. A...a servant.” 

Lucius’ pale eyebrows rose, intrigued. “A servant? His power must be exceedingly strong for you to consider someone so beneath us.”

Draco swallowed, throat dry. “He..can’t use magic.”

Lucius said nothing, stiff smile melting into something still and stony. “Pardon?” 

“Look, he...he isn’t a Squib, I can tell. Pansy agrees with me. He’s just...there’s something wrong, he can’t use it!”

“Is this one of your ridiculous follies, Draco?” Said Lucius, voice erily steady . Draco shook his head.

“No, Father, you know I would never jest about such a thing. Please, I...I love him,” Draco was surprised at his own words but even more surprised at how natural it was for him to say them. 

“You will not,” Lucius said, voice suddenly rising in volume. Draco flinched. “Marry vermin. Do you realize how absurd this request is? You will not allow a Muggle to lay a single hand upon your skin, Draco.” 

“He’s not a Muggle!” Draco bellowed, eyes suddenly stinging. Lucius stood and pounded his fist against his desk, causing many decorations to wobble precariously. 

“Then he is a Squib, Draco. A filthy, insignificant Squib! He is filth!” 

“He isn't, Father, I'm telling you, I can feel his power, he’s--” 

Draco felt a cold, intense pain against his cheek. His brain went blank for a moment, only to realize that he’d been slapped. Hard enough to leave a bruise, he thought almost absently. His father grabbed the nape of his shirt, pushing him up against the cherry wood walls. Icy, almost inhuman eyes bore into Draco's own as his father hissed a few venomous words at him. 

“YOU’RE BLINDED BY YOUR OWN IDIOCY!” He bellowed. His words were pure anger, pure ferociousness, and yet they still contained a calm, even control. “You've brought shame upon the Royal Family. Every ancestor, every pureblooded witch or wizard who has shaped our legacy for centuries, betrayed.” 

Draco swallowed and flinched when Lucius raised a hand again. Relief flooded senses, however, when his father merely pointed to the jewel encrusted ring on his index finger; the family heirloom. 

“Generation after generation of the Malfoy Family, those worthy of the throne, have worn this ring with pride. The thought of passing it on to you sickens me.” Lucius continued, every insidious word causing Draco's chest to constrict. “You’re forbidden from seeing this Potter boy again. If you weren't my only heir, I would have you banished.” 

Lucius stalked off into the back room, leaving Draco a stationary, trembling mess. He was alone, now; the only sound he processed was the steady ticking of the grandfather clock across the office. His eyes burned with unshed tears. He clenched his teeth and dug his long nails into his palm, hard enough to leave small, pink crescents on the unblemished skin. He swallowed the urge to cry, refusing to let a single tear fall. He’d already disgraced himself enough for the day. With that, he returned to his quarters with only one thought in mind: 

I will have Potter. 

~

Harry was dozing against the kitchen table, head sinking further and further into his own arms. He had just finished his most grueling chore, which was scrubbing the permanently stained marble floors (Vernon would never stop pestering him no matter how hard he scrubbed; he didn’t seem to understand that they were impossible to remove). His entire body was lethargic and he craved sleep almost as much as he craved water. The well was closed off today due to an infestation of gnomes and it had been ages since he’d last had something to drink. His mouth was dry and the air, still sticky, was practically choking him to death. When he heard Dudley’s heavy clomping, however, he suddenly found his energy, shooting up out of his chair and bolting out the door. No more chores today, he thought as he tied his left boot. I’d rather be executed by the King himself. 

Harry laughed and shook his head, ironic warmth suddenly filling his chest as the thought of the Royal Family. Draco. Draco, Draco, Draco. He’d never repeated a word so many times in his mind. Although a bit concerning, Harry couldn’t help but feel giddy over this new infatuation, no matter how futile it would surely prove to be. At least I know he’s attracted to me, Harry thought with a dim pang of fondness and arousal as he remembered the hopeless look in Draco’s eyes the first time he touched him. Perhaps, Harry thought with a ridiculous surge of hope, he’ll choose me. 

It was ridiculous, and Harry knew it to be so; however when were fantasies ever realistic? 

Harry continued on the path to the market, leaves crunching beneath his feet. Fall was ending, and soon it would be spring; this thought made Harry uneasy, although he was unsure why. But before Harry could become fully immersed in his own thoughts, he spotted two familiar figures sprinting towards him. 

“HARRY!”

Harry stared, wide-eyed, as a frantic Ron and Hermione came to a halt before him, blocking his path. Ron’s face was red with overexertion and a bead of sweat trickled down Hermione’s smooth skin. 

“What?! What are you guys doing here, what’s the matter? You’ve never been to my house before--”

Hermione clapped a hand over Harry’s mouth and then Ron was yanking him into the bushes. Harry would have cussed, called Ron every name in the book, if it wasn’t for the fact that his mouth was still blockaded. He had half a mind to lick Hermione’s hand, but before he could do so she began speaking in frantic whispers: 

“Harry,” She hissed, pulling brambles out of her wild hair. “You’re in trouble. Big trouble. We’ve come to save you. Now I’ll let you speak but you have to promise to be quiet!”

If it had been anyone else Harry would have fought with everything he had, but the trust he had for his two new friends was unyielding. He nodded pathetically and Ron’s grip eased up on him at the same time Hermione took her hand away. 

“What is going on?!” Harry said in his harshest whisper possible. "I don't appreciate being kidnapped by my only two friends!" 

Hermione looked at Ron, who grimaced. “Well, erm, that’s a bit complicated, mate…” He trailed off, trying to find an answer in Hermione’s eyes. She shook her head, aghast at Ron’s uselessness. 

“Ronald overheard his colleagues speaking to The King this morning. They plan to find you and…” She swallowed, dark eyes locked on the ground. “Execute you.” 

Harry blanched , throat tightening at Hermione’s explanation. “Shit,” He said, stupidly hoping that this was just one big, cruel joke. 

“It’s true, Harry,” Ron said. “You know, my loyalty is always with His Highness but you’re my friend. And part of a knight’s oath is to protect, so…’Mione and I are taking you back with us to my mum and dad’s house.” 

“Your…” Harry swallowed. “Your parent’s house?”

“Yes, Harry,” Hermione replied. “That’s the last place The King and his men will look. No one knows you’re friends with Ron except for me, and what would they want with a lowly Muggleborn?”

Harry, at a loss for words, simply looked back and forth between his two friends. "I...alright, thanks? For saving me." 

Hermione rolled her eyes, lashes thick and curled. "Of course we would save you, who do you think we are?"

Ron nodded in agreement, expression sharp and determined. The three stood up, brushing leaves and dirt off of their clothes, and they were off. 

" S'only a few miles away," Ron said, stepping gallantly in front of Harry and Hermione. "I'll lead the way." 

Hermione snorted and Harry couldn't help but smile despite the fact that he had just been notified of his impending doom. 

 

~

The Burrow was cluttered, but that was not to say that it was not in order. Somehow, the countless cracked dishes were in neat piles, some so high that they brushed the low, oakwood ceiling. The aging furniture welcomed Harry’s weight, creaking and groaning greetings as he sat. The walls, a soothing beige, were lined with mismatched paintings of landscapes, wizards, and yellowing art created years ago by the Weasley siblings. The family itself was a vision. Mrs. Weasley, plump and as red-faced as her son, treated Harry with unyielding kindness and respect. At times, her words proved to be overwhelming; Harry had never been treated with such grace. He was, however, a bit tired of all the food she was constantly serving him. Harry had never been a big eater. The rest of the household had welcomed Harry with open arms. Mr. Weasley, a soft and quiet man, seemed to produce a continuous flow of conciliation. If any conflict, no matter how friendly, arose between Ron and Hermione, Mr. Weasley would step in and mollify both parties with a simple touch of his hand. 

Extraordinary, was what it was. Harry yearned to meet the rest of the family, all of Ron’s brothers and sister, but they were either in school or had places of their own. Hogwarts, the most well known Wizarding academy in the world,was home to their youngest child, Ginny. Ron practically lost his marbles when Harry revealed to him that he had never heard of such a school. 

The days passed quickly, for Harry had never known such contentment. The rhythmic sound of Hermione’s gentle breathing in the bunk above his own served as a sleeping draught, as did the fluffy quilts enveloping his body each night, and Harry was more well-rested than he had ever been in his life. He and Ron passed the time playing Wizard’s Chess and chasing garden gnomes away, while Hermione read by the fire. The three of them often helped Mrs. Weasley with chores, without having being asked; Harry figured that it was the least he could do. 

Thoughts of Draco stayed buried deep within the confines of Harry’s mind. He couldn’t worry, wouldn’t worry, about Draco’s fate. About his own. Over the course of the week, however, anxiety began to creep up his spine often in the dead of night, when the walls creaked and silence permeated the stuffy air.

 

~

 

On the seventh morning of his stay, Harry was awoken from his deep slumber by a frantic Ron, who was shaking his shoulder.

“Mmm? Harry blinked, taking in Ron’s freckled face inches above his own. “Whatsit?”

“Harry!” Ron hissed, quiet so as to not wake Hermione. “I think the Prince is here!”

Harry sat up, almost hitting his head on Hermione’s bunk. “What?! What do you mean?!”

“Someone knocked on the door and mum opened it. She practically passed out, Harry, I think it’s him! I’ve only met him once, but it’s gotta be, he has the blond hair!” 

Harry shook his head in a frantic attempt to clear it. “But that’s...why would he come here?” 

“To find you, obviously,” Hermione mumbled groggily. Ron grimaced, having realized he’d woken her. 

“Sorry, Hermione.”

“It’s quite alright, Ronald,” She said. Her feet were suddenly dangling in front of Harry’s nose and then she had hopped down, clad in a set of tattered blue pajamas. Her hair was practically an actual nest at this point. “I take it he was wearing a disguise of some kind?” She said through a yawn. Ron looked at her with wonder as she took a seat next to Harry on his bed. 

“How did you know?” He asked incredulously. Hermione grinned, pleased at his reaction. 

“I’ve suspected that The Prince would be showing up any day now. The King would never let him come find Harry, of course, considering Harry’s a wanted man and also scum in His eyes.” 

“Gee, thanks, ‘Mione,” Harry grumbled. Hermione waved a dismissive hand. 

“Oh, not to worry, Harry. I am too. You know how it is. Anyway, Draco loves Harry dearly, so my conclusion is that he snuck away to find him. How he found our location, though, I have no idea.”

Harry and Ron blinked, admiring Hermione’s sleuthing skills. 

“Got it,” Harry said, eyes flitting to the door. He was suddenly queasy. “Should I...go down there? What’s he doing?”

“Mum made him tea,” Ron said. “So he’s probably sitting and waiting for you. Mum knows what’s going on, so I’m sure she let him know that you’re here.”

Harry stood up, palms suddenly sweaty. “I should....I should get dressed.”

Ron snorted. “You have The Prince himself waiting in my living room and you want to make him wait?”

“I--Well, I don’t want to look bad!”

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione smiled, placing a chilly hand on his cheek affectionately. “He’s already in love with you. Something tells me he won’t mind if you’re still in pajamas.” 

Face flushing, Harry shook his head. “He’s not in love with me, Hermione. Why would he be?” 

“Come on, Harry,” Ron chimed in with a sly grin. “He came all the way here in secret for a reason, yeah? Get going, mate.” He practically shoved Harry out the door. 

Harry shrugged, trying in vain to smooth down his hair, and walked out. The moment the door shut behind him, his throat constricted in sudden dread. What if Draco had come to break...whatever it was they had, off? Maybe he’d decided that Harry was beneath him, after all. After gathering his thoughts and taking a few deep breaths, Harry walked down the stairs gingerly. His eyes immediately landed on the back of a very blond head seated on the family’s worn couch. Mrs. Weasley was bustling around in the kitchen, apologizing over and over for making Draco wait. 

Harry cleared his throat and Draco whirled around, eyes wide. He was wearing a black cloak, dark and simple; the exact opposite of anything Harry had ever seen him wear before. He looked tired and even more gaunt than usual. 

“Harry!” Draco practically yelled, standing up clumsily and without his usual grace. He was smiling, eyes alight despite the dark circles beneath them. Harry could have sworn that he’d never seen anything so beautiful.

Draco seemed to realize how enthusiastic his reaction had been, cheeks coloring as his face returned to its usual hardness. “Er, I mean. I’m pleased to have found you here, Potter.”

“Why’re you…” Harry began, trailing off when his eyes fell upon Draco’s exposed collarbone. “How come you came to find me?” 

Mrs. Weasley was suddenly very busy in the kitchen, pots and pans clanging obnoxiously. 

“I…” Draco flushed, now, and stared at his hands. They lacked jewels and appeared strangely naked without them. “My father has forbidden me to see you. Normally I...I would respect his wishes. However I...chose to make an exception, this time.”

Suddenly, Harry couldn’t stop grinning as sweet relief flooded his body. “Yeah? And why’s that?”

“Shut it, Potter, before I change my mind,” Draco scowled, flush deepening. “I’ve come to take you somewhere. With me.” Draco fussed with the unkempt hem of his robes. “T-That is, if you want to.”

Harry heard Ron’s muffled “WHOOP!” at Draco’s words. 

“Yeah. Yeah, of course I want to,” Harry said, voice more steady and sincere now. He walked over to Draco, who colored at Harry’s suddenly close proximity.

Draco sniffed proudly, masking his bashfulness. “Why wouldn’t you? Now go and fetch what little possessions you have. And for Merlin’s sake, get dressed. You look like a beggar.” 

Harry rolled his eyes, grasped Draco’s shirt collar, and kissed him with everything he had. When he pulled away, he net Draco's wide eyes and sneered: “I look like a beggar? What about you? Wearing normal clothes must be killing you.”

Draco gasped when Harry snaked an arm around his waiste. Harry chuckled at his eagerness, pulling him closer. 

“Y-Yes, you do!” Draco said, voice a few octaves higher than its normal tone. 

“Whatever you say, Your Highness,” Harry said, eyes glinting devilishly. There was something about making Draco flustered that turned him on to no end. 

“I told you not to call me that, you scum!”

“I was mocking you,” Harry sneered, overcome with fondness when Draco glared at him in response. Draco opened his mouth, probably to form an equally acidic comeback, but Harry seized the opportunity to capture his lips once again and slide his tongue between them. Draco’s taught body relaxed and he sighed, which was music to Harry’s ears. 

Someone cleared their throat from the other side of the room and both Harry and Draco jumped a mile, pushing away from each other in record time. In the doorway stood an awkwardly-posed Mr. Weasley, staring at the ceiling and whistling a tone deaf tune with a stiff hand at his side. 

Harry flushed and crossed his arms, eyeing Draco up and down. “I, erm. I should go get dressed.”

“Yes,” Draco mumbled, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “Yes, you should. Make it snappy, Potter, or I’ll leave without you.” 

Harry turned around and practically bolted up the stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was more plot based, but more romance/smutty will be coming soon in the next chapter !!! Any ideas as to where Draco might take Harry to hide? ;) Also, this fanfic is gonna be longer than we originally anticipated, more like 11 chapters instead of the original 9 we once thought it would be. Hope you enjoy this chapter! <3


	8. Chapter VIII: A Hideout and an Explosion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HERE YOU GO, FOLKS. Shameless porn. But that's not all ;)

Draco, as ashamed as he was to be wearing such a ghastly ensemble, felt absurdly giddy. He was leading a flustered Potter deeper and deeper into the woods beyond the Weaselbies' house, making random twists and turns and cringing whenever his outerwear caught on a bramble. The sky above them was slowly fading from blue to a pink and orange gradient, bathing their eerie surroundings in a warm, honey-colored light. Harry’s green eyes, although muted by the dimness, were still striking. 

“Draco,” Harry said over the crunching of their feet. “We’ve been walking for half an hour. Can you please tell me where we’re going? Or are you too ‘mysterious’ for that?”

“Fuck you, Potter.” 

“Hmm. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I thought it’d be the other way around.”

That shut Draco up for a solid five minutes. Harry, basking in his smugness, grinned like a fool at the flustered boy gripping his hand and tugging him onward. Soon they reached a clearing framed by leafy trees obstructing the almost-twilight sky, and Draco slowed to a stop. 

“We’re here, you oaf.”

“Uh,” Harry remarked, eyebrows knit together in confusion. “There’s nothing here.” 

Draco rolled his eyes, grumbling under his breath about “incompetent squibs”, and pulled out his wand. It was dark and smooth, probably crafted from hawthorn wood; it fit Draco perfectly. He flicked it with a graceful wrist, and a modest tent materialized before them. Harry rose his eyebrows, impressed. 

“That’s brilliant,” Harry said while giving the tent a once-over and poking at its various parts. Although small, it was sturdy and clearly reliable. Draco snorted, although he stood up a little taller at Harry’s reaction. 

“Oh please. That’s basic magic. You haven’t even seen the inside yet.”

“The inside? What d’you mean?”

“Why don’t you follow me and see for yourself instead of asking increasingly dimwitted questions?” Draco challenged flatly as he lifted the entrance flap and stepped inside. 

Harry rolled his eyes but was not far behind, ducking his head as he entered. He stopped in his tracks, almost bumping into Draco, when he took in his surroundings. They were standing in what seemed to be a small house, complete with a humble bed, two plush armchairs, and plenty of space to move around. Harry gaped, and for the first time felt a pang of bitterness at the fact that he couldn’t use magic. 

“Merlin,” Harry said. “Is life really this easy for you all the time?” 

Draco puffed out his chest. “Easy? Took me years of Transfiguration classes to master this, I’ll have you know.” 

“Oh, so you’re not naturally gifted like the rest of your esteemed family?” 

“Know your damned place, you commoner.” 

“A commoner? So I’m not a filthy Squib anymore? What an upgrade!” Harry grinned slyly, unfazed by Draco’s insults. He took a seat on one of the armchairs, propping his feet up on the oaken coffee table, and stretched. Draco, who was glaring daggers into him, took a seat in the opposite chair. 

“Making ourselves at home, are we?” He asked, blowing a stray strand of blond hair away from his eyes. Harry noticed fondly that it wasn’t gelled, and appeared almost feathery-soft. 

“I like your hair like that,” Harry said, and Draco turned crimson at the compliment but Harry continued, “I don’t suppose you could transfigure me some new clothes? A toothbrush, maybe?” 

“Of course I can. You don’t really think I’d allow myself to be trapped in this wretched tent in the middle of the wilderness without necessities, do you?” Draco swished his wand a few times, pointing it towards a cracked teacup resting on the table. The cup turned to unblemished porcelain in an instant. 

“Ah, yes,” Harry said patronizingly. “Necessities.”

“I was making a point!” Draco whined, throwing his head back in exasperation. He groaned, lazily creating circles with the tip of his wand, and a pile of crumpled clothes appeared on Harry’s lap. “There you go, you degenerate. Take off those tatty things.” 

“Bossy,” Harry stripped himself of his shirt absently, completely unaware of Draco's’ lingering gaze fixated on his broad chest. Harry shook his head when he noticed the color of his very basic T-shirt.

“Purple? Really?” Harry observed passively. 

“Purple is a fantastic color, Potter! You should be grateful!” 

“I am. Thank you, Draco,” Harry said, suddenly sincere, and Draco’s face immediately softened. 

“Don’t thank me. I’m beyond simple words of gratitude. Are you hungry? I myself am famished.” 

Harry shrugged. “S’pose I stopped getting hungry years ago, but yeah, I could eat,” He said, looking around the room pointedly. “Don’t think you can transfigure food, and you obviously didn’t pack anything. Gonna pull a royal feast out of your ass?”

“I don’t know! Hadn’t gotten that far!” Draco spat, crossing his arms and glowering. 

“Wonderful. We’re by a river though, yeah?”

“I believe so. But if you think we’re going to continue my lessons at a time like this, you’re surely mistaken--”

“No, you idiot. Fish. Where there’s a river, there’s fish. Lived off of the pike fish in the creek by my house for years growing up.”

Draco made a face. “You’d eat it raw?” 

“Fire, Draco. Fire.”

“Ah. Yes, of course,” Draco said, and Harry raised his eyebrows when Draco failed to respond with a witty retort of his own. “Would you please put a shirt on?” Draco fussed with his own shirt collar, shifting awkwardly. “It’s...distracting.” 

Harry raised an eyebrow, grinning at the realization. “Oh? Is that why you’ve suddenly become dumb as a door-nail?”

“Don’t--Just put some bloody clothes on!” 

Harry stood up, brushing his hands on his trousers, and made a show of unbuckling them. Draco visibly swallowed, eyes flitting back and forth over various areas of Harry’s body. He cleared his throat and turned around, ears slightly pink. 

“You can look, if you'd like,” Harry said rather cockily, moreso than he actually felt. He’d never given much thought to his own body before, never really cared, but apparently his overly muscular frame (from years of manual labor) appealed to Draco. 

“W--Look?! Why would I be--”

Harry had turned around and made his way over to Draco, suddenly determined. Before Draco could so much as utter a word, Harry had bent over him, one hand on each arm of the chair. His nose was almost brushing Draco’s as he peered down at him, resolute.

"D'you think eating can wait?" Harry asked. He could feel Draco's warm breath against his face, could smell the fancy soap he used, and it was intoxicating. 

"I...I suppose it can," Draco mumbled, suddenly a blushing virgin. Harry chucked throatily. 

"You're so easy," Harry said, amused and turned on all at once. "Who knew our kingdom's Prince would be so lascivious?" 

"I am no such thing! You're the one who started this, I wouldn't have--" 

“Don’t even start,” Harry mumbled, kissing Draco’s neck before his lips. Draco whimpered pathetically and leaned into Harry’s touch, already hot and hard against Harry’s thigh. “You would get on your knees and beg for it, if I made you.” 

Draco sucked in a sharp breath, and Harry almost missed the slight stutter of his hips against his own. Harry raised an eyebrow. “You're already hard. You really like being put in your place, don’t you?”

Draco looked down through his pale eyelashes, cheeks pink, and nodded stiffly. Harry laughed, pressing down on his hip bones forcefully and pinning Draco down in the process. “Of course you do.” He ground against Draco, who moaned helplessly. 

“S-Shut...shut up, Potter! I don’t need you to--” 

Harry cut him off with a dirty kiss, all tongue, and Harry could feel Draco’s rapid heart beat through his thin robes. Robes, Harry thought, mind clouded by intense arousal. 

“Off,” Harry said, practically ripping off Draco’s pants. Draco simply sat there, staring at Harry with wide eyes. 

“Well you’re bloody useless,” Harry said as he pulled Draco’s slacks away from his taut body. Draco seemed not to have heard him; he said nothing, mouth dropping open slightly as Harry removed his own underwear.

“Oh…” Draco mumbled, wide eyes locked on Harry’s newly-visible cock. “You’re...big.” 

Harry snorted, looking down at himself. “Yeah? S’pose I’ve never really thought about it.” 

Harry looked up, finally taking in Draco’s current state. Although he still wore one layer of undergarments, his legs were spread lewdly. Harry sighed at the beautiful image before him, shaking his head. 

“You’re stunning.” 

Draco turned away, flushing all the way down to his slender torso, and crossed his arms. “Potter. Hurry up.”

“Hmm?” Harry asked slyly, tracing his fingers over the new, red marks peppering Draco’s porcelain neck. He added a few more, savoring every one of Draco’s breathy moans. 

“Come on,” Draco whined, pressing up against Harry desperately. 

“You need to work on your patience,” Harry bluffed, although he was close to caving himself. He made quick work of Draco’s last layer and grinned hugely when he saw how hard and wet Draco already was. 

“Don’t look at me like that, you lech--” 

“You love it.” 

Draco crossed his arms, but didn’t close his legs. “Hardly.”

"Sure, sure," Harry taunted, ghosting the pad of his index finger over Draco's entrance. Draco took a sharp intake of breath, wriggling slightly,and Harry idly wondered how they were going to pull this off on such a small armchair. He couldn't bring himself to move Draco, however, not when he was staring up at Harry so beautifully . 

"You...you can...do more. If you want." 

"Oh, I know I can. Bet you'd open up nice and easy, since you're such a little slut for me." 

Draco moaned obscenely and pressed his cock against Harry's abdomen. 

Harry circled his finger around the tight hole and just barely pushed inside. Draco let out a breathy moan at the contact and pushed into Harry's hand, all too eager, and Harry’s cock throbbed. 

“Want more?” Harry asked, voice rough with desire. Draco nodded, fingers flexing against Harry’s back. His grey eyes were a bit unfocused, but they were on Harry; impossibly wide and lust-blown. His lips were parted slightly and his cheeks were flushed; He looked completely and utterly debauched despite the fact that Harry wasn’t even fucking him yet. Draco looked so good like this, impossibly good, and it took all of Harry’s self control not to shove into him all at once. Though, judging by the way Draco reacted to a second finger inside of him, that wouldn’t have been a problem; Harry could find no indication of pain in his sharp features. 

“More,” Draco hissed, pushing back against Harry’s fingers. “Give me more, just fuck me already, just--”

Harry cut him off with a wet kiss and began finger-fucking him harder and quicker, brushing up against his prostate with every thrust. Draco, keened, arching his back and pushing himself onto Harry's fingers.

“Be patient,” Harry murmured, kissing Draco’s neck sloppily. “I don’t have anything to prep you with.”

Draco sighed and rolled his eyes. With a shaking hand, he wandlessly conjured up some lube and Harry’s hands were suddenly wet and cool with the liquid. Harry raised an eyebrow.

“You do that a lot?” 

“Shut up.”

Harry smirked, lubing up his cock and groaning at the much-needed friction. Draco squirmed at the sight, gaze fixated on Harry’s length, and licked his lips. 

“You thinking about sucking me off?”

Draco nodded, too eager, and Harry smirked. “Draco. You really are a slut, aren’t you?”

Draco gasped, and Harry idly noted how turned on Draco got when he was being degraded. 

“Think you’re ready?”

“Yes,” Draco panted. “I have been, but you insisted upon torturing me, you…” Whatever name Draco was going to call Harry died in his throat, however, because Harry, who was using every ounce of his self control to keep himself from fucking into Draco’s warm body hard and fast, had lined himself up with his entrance. Draco made a choked noise as Harry pushed the tip inside of him. 

“More,” Draco begged, attempting to shove himself farther onto Harry’s cock immediately, without an adjustment period. Through his cloudy lust, Harry had the mental image of Draco fingering himself, calling Harry’s name. God, Draco’s desperation was going to be the death of him. 

Harry allowed himself to push in a few more inches and groaned at the tight heat. “Fuck,” He said throatily as he pinned one of Draco’s arms to the bed. “You alright?”

Draco replied, through gritted teeth, “I’m fucking fine, Potter. Get on with it.”

Harry stilled inside of him and Draco cried out in anguish, grabbing at Harry’s shoulders in an attempt to coax him into movement. 

“What do you want?” Harry asked with faux-sweetness. 

“What do I--You know bloody well what I want, Potter, so just--” 

“Beg for it.” 

Draco’s mouth dropped open at the sudden forcefulness in Harry’s words and he colored more than Harry had thought possible, pale cheeks dusted with crimson. He was silent for a moment, only to begin squirming.

“You...fine! Please!I need you to...please,” Draco said breathily, eyes flickering down to what he could see of Harry inside of him. Harry grinned devilishly and pulled out, agonizingly slow, only to decide that he’d made Draco suffer long enough.  
He abruptly fucked into Draco, who cried out in relief. He thrust into Draco exactly how he knew he’d like it; all force and power. It only took a few thrusts for Draco to lose all of his control, calling out Harry’s name like a dying man. Harry, engulfed in the softness of Draco’s body, barely registered the sharpness of Draco’s nails digging into his back.

“Knew it’d be easy to get you to moan like a whore,” Harry whispered into Draco’s ear, catching a whiff of Draco’s girly shampoo in the process. Draco whimpered, body shivering, and Harry could feel his lithe muscles spasm beneath the supple skin of his abdomen. “You want it so fucking bad, don’t you?”

Draco nodded pathetically, beyond words. Pinned beneath him, Draco could do nothing other than take Harry’s cock, and judging by the way Draco was clinging to him like his life depended on it, he was more than fine with that. Harry bit his neck softly and then moved downwards, grazing his teeth over his collarbone as he thrust into Draco over and over again. Draco moaned loudly at the sensation, a stream of unintelligible profanity falling from his pink, swollen lips.

“Beautiful,” Harry whispered, trailing his mouth down Draco’s heaving chest. 

"H...Harry," Draco barely whimpered, voice fervent with desperation. Harry snapped his hips and began fucking into him mercilessly, pounding into his prostate with every thrust. Malfoy was practically screaming at this point, pushing Harry deeper into him with his legs. 

Harry growled, thrusting impossibly deeper inside of Draco’s tight, wet heat. Draco was a vision, all broken moans and occasional curse words. Harry was already close and he could tell by Draco’s current state that he was as well.

Harry sped up the pace and Draco shook with pleasure, practically screaming Harry’s name. Suddenly he was coming with a cry, shooting all over Harry’s abdomen. Pure bliss thrummed through his veins for what could have been an eternity; he’d never came so intensely before. Harry was not far behind, as Draco’s name stumbled from his lips and he shuddered, spilling into Draco with a low moan. Draco trembled with the aftershocks, mind buzzing with electricity. 

The two lay there, still and sated, and in comfortable silence. Harry was the first to break it. 

“Y’know, for being a sheltered Pansy, you’re pretty good at sex.” 

Draco snorted. “For being a lowly commoner, you aren’t so bad yourself.” 

 

~

 

They lived as a whole, a single entity, for three days. Endearments masked as insults, fondness masked as anger, drew the two impossibly closer together. After yet another round of some really great sex, as he ran his fingers through soft blond locks, Harry realized how deep his love for Draco Malfoy really ran. It was his blood, his flesh, his reason; his home. 

Draco lay beside him, ivory skin still glistening with clean sweat. His eyes, although colorless, lit up the dim tent. Harry opened his mouth to speak, to tell Draco what words were practically spilling off of his tongue. 

“Draco…” Harry whispered, voice almost swept away by the wind. 

“Yes?”

“I…” Harry’s voice broke, because it was impossible. They were impossible. Soon, they would be found, and Harry would be killed. And that would be the end of it. The end of everything. Harry knew that he should have at least been unsettled by that fact, but his aching chest wasn’t a result of his impending doom; it was all because of the willowy man in his arms. “Never-mind.” 

Draco laughed, genuine and light, tracing his fingers against Harry’s exposed chest. “You really are an idiot.” 

“Might be your own insecurities talking there, Draco. You should be careful.” 

Draco glowered, but didn’t budge. Harry barely heard him say: “I love you, too.” 

~~

It was so still, so quiet, that when Draco was rudely awoken by the shouts of his father's knights he practically went into cardiac arrest. He sat up immediately, as did Harry, who was looking at him with wide, fearful eyes. 

“They've come for me, Draco,” he whispered. Draco looked down at Harry's hands, clutching the soft material of the sleeping bag, and saw that they were shaking. 

“What?!” Draco said, sudden panic squeezing his insides. “I won't let them! And we've put plenty of charms on the tent, haven't we?! They won't see us!” 

“How do you think they found us here, then?” Harry said softly, voice wavering. “Look, Draco, they're going to kill me. I know that. But I don't regret this. You're the best damn thing that's ever happened to me.” 

Draco's eyes welled up, much to his chagrin. They wouldn't take Harry from him. Couldn't. He opened his mouth to argue, to protest, but then Harry’s warm, calloused hand was cupping his cheek. 

“Hey, s’alright, don't cry,” Harry said, uncharacteristically tender. He wiped away Draco’s sudden tears with his thumb. “I never thought I could be this happy, do you hear me? Thought I'd be stuck in that bloody hell hole until the day I die. But then you came along, you priss, and you made everything good again. Brought the color back.” 

“Potter, stop it, shut your stupid mouth, they aren't going to lay a finger on you, I won't let father--” Draco's rambling was cut off by an absurdly gentle kiss upon his forehead.

“It'll be okay. I want you to find someone who loves you like you deserve, alright? Someone who'll treat you right. And I--” 

The tent was ripped apart by two large men donning thick chain-mail. One of them bellowed, “I’VE FOUND THEM!” And Draco watched in horror, screaming Harry’s name, as the boy he loved was hit with an electric green spell and sent flying. Harry landed a few feet away from what were now the ruins of the tent, body limp and lifeless. 

“Prince Malfoy,” One of the knights said, kneeling in front of Draco and obscuring his view of Harry. “Your father has requested that you return home at once.” 

“NO!” Draco bellowed as the bulky man seized his arms. He pushed against the knight but his attempts were futile;his chest was rippling stone. “UNHAND ME, YOU TRAITOR! LET ME GO, OBEY YOUR PRINCE!” 

“My apologies,” The knight said, low and unfeeling. “The King’s orders take priority, Lord Draco. Surely you must know this.” 

“Fuck you,” Draco spat on the knight's face, who was unfazed. “What are you going to do to him? He's not…?” Draco's voice tapered off as he saw another knight practically toss Harry’s body into the carriage behind them.

“He's not dead, Your Highness. Your father requested for him to be brought back alive, so that he himself may witness the execution.” 

Draco clawed at him, aiming for the dark and unfeeling eyes, and the knight barely flinched. “I WILL NOT ALLOW IT! AS PRINCE OF YOUR KINGDOM I FORBID IT!” 

The knight said nothing, and then, with a flick of his wand, stunned Draco into oblivion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope this chapter was satisfying! As a very gay female writing M/M smut is quite challenging for me but I think I did pretty ok. I hope. HAhahahaah anyways, thank you for reading this (I know I've said that a million times, but seriously. I'm grateful.) Thank you for all the kind and encouraging comments, they truly mean the world.


	9. Chapter IX: An Exquisite Room and A Happy Ending

Harry was deep within a dream. His mother and father had returned, all contagious smiles and comforting words. However, he was soon yanked from his warm thoughts by what felt like a cold water droplet hitting his forehead repeatedly. Harry gasped and sat up, eyes shooting open, only to sigh and shrink when he took in his surroundings. The walls were made from haphazardly stacked grey bricks and the soft ground beneath Harry's body consisted of wet dirt. The smell of must was overpowering; yellowish water dripped from every crack in the wall. 

 

He sat there for a moment, mind blissfully blank, until the severity of his situation hit him like a freight train. The acidic ache in his chest was not caused by his impending doom; rather it was a result of Harry’s knowledge that he could never, ever be with Draco. If he was dead, he couldn’t kiss him, couldn’t hold him, couldn’t cuss at him. Aside from this, however, Harry’s mind was buzzing with natural adrenaline, the kind that oozes from one's hormone-secretors whilst near death. Soon, he would cease to exist, and Harry’s body knew that; his veins were on fire. Only, as Harry clenched his fists and stripped off his sweat-soaked shirt, he realized that something was not right. He was twitchy, stomach flopping around obnoxiously, and every part of his body felt out of his control. 

Harry blinked a few times, mind blank, and then the dam broke. 

The dim dungeon was suddenly doused in an electric red light, walls shaking and cracking in time with an invisible pulse. Harry, blissfully unaware of the ringing in his ears and the debris falling onto his body, merely sat with glazed eyes as the walls caved in. Metal bars keeping him from freedom shattered into hundreds of shards, and warm sunlight streamed down from gaping holes in the ceiling. 

Harry’s magic had returned. 

~

Draco felt the explosion all the way from his bed chambers, on the opposite end of the monstrous castle. He sat up on bed, startled and rubbed his sore eyes. Like a pathetic child, he’d been crying all day; his pillow was damp with tears. Racing thoughts of what his life would be like without Potter, how it’d return to normal and how he’d be alone again, did not cease even in his dreams. Images of Potter’s stupid, crooked smile seemed to be burned into the back of his eyelids. Would he ever see it again? He’d pleaded endlessly with his father to no avail. At one point, he’d even dropped to his knees and begged. Narcissa had taken his side, imploring Lucius to let the boy go and allow her son to be happy, to be loved; to no avail. Draco had never hated his father more than when he turned his back to them, face carved from marble. 

If Draco had been told where Harry was imprisoned, he would have gone there himself if not for the guards constantly forcing him back into his bedchambers. He’d never felt so helpless, so incapable. If he couldn’t save the man he loved, then who was he really? Draco shook his head, remembering the sound he’d heard just moments before. Had there been an accident? Normally, Draco would have seized this opportunity to flaunt his princely duties but this time around he felt detached, numb. He sat up in bed, too still, for a few moments until he could hear frantic voices outside of his door. Footsteps pounded above him, and it seemed that whatever had happened had put the entire castle staff into a frenzy. Draco stood up, smoothing out his shirt, and banged against his bolted door (after his third attempt at an escape, his father had demanded he be shut away). 

“What’s happened?” Draco asked, voice hoarse. “Tell me, I demand to know.” 

The guard was silent, only to reply reluctantly a moment later. “There’s been an explosion in the far right wing of the castle, Your Highness.”

“What? What caused this? Was anyone hurt?”

“Not that we know of, Prince Malfoy. At this time, I am unsure what caused it, but I’ll let you know if--”

“Dammit, just let me out! I’m the fucking Prince, for Merlin’s sake! Can’t I at least see what’s going on?”

The knight cleared his throat. “King’s orders, Your Highness. You must stay here until further notice.” 

“Bastard,” Draco said under his breath, retreating to his bed and flopping down upon it. He wanted to disappear, to forget about everything; perhaps he’d have released his memories into his Pensieve if his wand hadn’t been confiscated. 

~

Harry was still. He was in a daze as he watched parts of the granite ceiling fall in. Had he done this?

It was obvious that he had, being that his hands were still glowing with...something, but Harry didn’t feel as though he could have done such a thing. How could he, probably a Squib, have caused so much destruction without a wand? He shook his head, trying to quiet the ringing in his ears, to no avail. He supposed that he’d be executed even sooner now as punishment for causing such damage. Although that’s probably a good thing, he thought. I won’t have time to wallow in my self pity. 

Time was different, wrong even; but Harry’s body was strangely relaxed. It felt as though a heavy boulder have been lifted off of him both mentally and physically, like he was free of a dark, malignant illness that he’d been unaware of until this moment. Could it be that he... ? Harry shook his head, which was pounding rhythmically. His magic couldn’t have returned, not now, not after so long.

Harry froze when he heard loud, echoing footsteps in the corridor outside of the dungeon. Was it time? He released a shuddering sigh, sinking to the floor and feeling strangely limp. He waited for a few tense moments, biting his lip; and then a group of men marched into the room, strong and silent. Harry looked up, trying to keep his dignity and not appear afraid, but was shocked to see The King himself in the doorway with an entourage of knights in his wake. His skin was flushed, something harry interpreted as rather uncharacteristic; he’d never imagine that someone so powerful could appear so disheveled. His eyes resembled Draco's although they lacked any sort of warmth; his blond hair was weighed down with product and barely brushed his collar bones.

“Harry Potter. You are to come with me at once,” He boomed, and the knights stood at attention. Harry hung his head as he stepped forward pathetically, body heavy with acceptance. He refused to speak, for knew that it was useless at this point; he was going to die no matter what. The King led him down twisted corridor after twisted corridor, silver robes billowing from the breeze of open windows. His crown, thin and delicate, was crafted from what appeared to be pure silver and diamonds and it sat soft and gentle on his head. 

Soon The King, as well as the four or so knights, stopped in front of a grand, polished door. It was then that Harry realized he hadn’t been held by force, rather he was allowed to walk on his own the entire journey there, unlike his fantastic trip to the dungeons where he’d been stunned. Perhaps it’s a freedom they grant to those on death row, he thought with a rueful laugh. Yeah, right. 

A knight stepped in front of Harry, nodding at him (that’s weird, Harry thought. They’ve never acknowledged my presence before) and pushed the door open with controlled force. His biceps flexed beneath his shining armor plates, and Harry swallowed; perhaps he was going to be killed in a more painful way that he had originally thought. He blinked a few times as he was gently pushed into an extravagant room. The walls, painted a muted shade of salmon, donned floral paintings and golden candle holders. A large, plush bed sat dead in the middle, pink sheets reflecting on the tile floor. Real flowers, probably freshly clipped, made the room sickeningly colorful. Harry blinked, stunned and confused. Why the hell would they be sending him here, to such a nice place?

“Er,” Harry spoke for the first time, rather stupidly. “Your Highness. Where are we?” 

The King stood a safe distance from him, unfeeling eyes locked on his. He took a moment to answer Harry’s inquiry, although his gaze did not waver. When he spoke, his thin lips just barely moved. “You are to wait here until further instructions.” 

Harry nodded stiffly, watching as the King and his followers made a swift exit, and sat numbly on the bed. His thoughts were a jumbled haze of confusion and fading adrenaline. Were all death row inmates treated with such grace? Had the King made a mistake? Harry sighed, breath leaving him in tense, wavering bursts. All of this seemed like some sort of perverse dream. 

 

~

Draco stood his ground, staring pointedly at the rather obnoxious knight blocking his path. 

“This castle will be mine someday,” Draco growled, and the knight shrank back ever so slightly at the pure acidity of his tone. “Once I inherit the throne, you will regret this.” 

The knight, who was about to reply, suddenly whirled around at a thunderous voice: 

“DRACO!” 

“Father!” Draco called, pushing himself past the stunned knight and sprinting over to The King. “Why have you imprisoned me like this?! I’m the Prince, I’m--”

“You’re freed,” The King said blandly. “Your mother has tried to convince me that I owe you an apology, although I disagree with her accusations.”

Draco straightened up, eyes widening. “An...apology? Pardon?”

The King crossed his arms, brows furrowed. “It seems that your original beliefs were correct, and that my doubts were unjust. He does have power, my son. Copious amounts of power.” 

Draco was paralyzed. He couldn’t mean…? 

Before Draco could question him, Lucius continued speaking. “You will be married tomorrow morning. I’ve gathered our finest scribes to craft the invitations and our most skilled chefs to cater. The celebration shall be grand, Draco. I’ve decided to invite commoners as...compensation for my previous doubts.”

“F-Father…” Draco stammered, a million thoughts racing through his mind at once. “You...Are you referring to Harry?” 

The King scoffed, tucking a stray strand of his whitish hair behind his pierced ear. “Of course I am, Draco. Why else would I say such things?”

“I don’t...I don’t understand,” Draco said, cautious; he couldn’t allow himself to be happy, not yet, not when this situation was so surreal.

“My, my,” Lucius said with a smile that did not reach his eyes. “Surprised, are we? Did you not hear that explosion only a few moments ago?” 

“I did.” Draco replied. “But what does that have to do with Harry? Was the damage severe?” 

“Severe?!” Lucius laughed, strained, and Draco cringed. “He caused it! His magic it seems to have been released. Half of the dungeon was destroyed!” Lucius said, eyes glinting. “Such power...if I had not seen it with my own eyes, even I would have been skeptical.” 

“That was him?!” Draco said, aghast. “Harry did that?”

“Yes, my guards witnessed it, as did I. As such, Harry Potter will be your life partner and my second heir.” 

Draco was aware of how he must have looked; he was gaping at his father like a child who had just received a precious gift. 

“You mean...I can marry him?”

“Do not ask me to repeat things, Draco.”

“My apologies, Father,” Draco said, repressing his smile with great difficulty. His heart was going a million miles a minute as the news sunk in. “I...thank you. Thank you,” He breathed, voice cracking slightly. Lucius squinted his eyes and nodded stiffly. 

“I was originally planning on killing him. My change of heart is purely for the sake of our Kingdom. Some appreciation may be in order for your mother, however,” He shook his head, irritated. “She begged me to spare him. Not that I would have listened, of course. Endless rhetoric about true love. Utterly ridiculous.” 

The King’s words were just that: words. Draco barely heard them, barely registered them; his brain was full of images of Harry. Harry. He was going to be okay, he was going to live; and on top of that, he was going to be married. To Draco. 

Nodding to his father with as much respect as he could muster under the current circumstances, Draco trounced off, robes billowing behind him. 

“Where is he being kept?” He asked one of the knights awaiting his arrival in the hallway. “Tell me at once.” 

The knight cast a furtive glance in the direction of the King, who nodded at him. 

“In the third corridor, on the left side of the castle. The twelfth bedroom, your highness.” 

Draco ran as fast as his feet could carry him. 

~

Harry had been waiting, waiting, waiting for his death for about half an hour when a ridiculously loud knock broke the tense silence of his mind. He’d been sitting on the floor, feeling strange doing anything else, and when he stood up he felt slightly woozy. It had been days since he’d eaten. 

“Hello?” Harry asked, a flicker of panic amidst his confusion. “Who’s there?”

“Me! It’s me!”

Harry froze in place. “D-Draco?” 

“Yes, you bumbling fool, it’s Draco! Let me in!” 

Harry scrambled to the door, confused, and opened it with shaking hands. 

Draco was positively beaming. His eyes, normally sunken and sad, shone brighter than anything Harry had ever seen. He donned his usual attire (Harry found that he’d gotten rather used to Draco’s unexceptional disguise) and wore heeled boots.

“Potter!” Draco shouted, bounding towards him with an almost frightening excitement. He was so close, so suddenly, and Harry was momentarily lost in the deep grey of his irises. “Your magic!”

Harry took a moment to answer him. His ears were still stuffed with invisible cotton and his vision was still tinged with red hot panic. 

“Er...yeah. My magic. It’s back. I think. How did you know?” 

“Father knew right away! The damage you caused...it was incredible!” Draco said, voice trembling with excitement. Harry had never seen him like this, never seen him so happy; and the fact that he was the cause of this happiness had him weak in the knees, panic subsiding. 

“Hold on,” Harry began, swallowing thickly. “Your father, The King, was happy about the fact that I destroyed a solid one sixth of his castle?”

“Yes?”

Harry laughed at Draco’s confused expression and took a step forward. He pressed himself up against Draco’s warm chest, and he could feel the quickness of his breathing and heartbeat. Harry laced a hesitant hand through Draco’s gelled hair, remembering with a sharp fondness how soft it was without all the product. 

“Does this mean we can see each other again? Not...you know, secretly?”

“Hmm?” Draco mumbled, his translucent eyelids fluttering. “Oh. Well of course. Father wants us to marry at once, actually.” 

Harry’s jaw dropped as he went rigid. He stepped away from Draco’s body, still gripping firmly onto his slender wrists. 

“Hold on, he what?!” Harry’s voice came out hoarse. 

Draco’s smile fell at Harry’s apparent shock. He was silent for a moment, face reddening, and suddenly he looked like he was about to cry, blinking rapidly and tensing up. “You don’t..?”

Before Harry could force his incompetent brain to reply, Draco continued, voice wavering. “I...I understand that you probably wouldn’t want to marry me, of all people. I’m a snob. And I’m petty. Not nearly as powerful as you are. I suppose I just thought...it’s alright, I can tell father that--” 

“No!” Harry yelled, and Draco winced slightly. “Of course I want to marry you, you imbecile! What happened to your crippling narcissism all of a sudden?” 

And then Draco really did cry, tears spilling over and leaving trails on his impeccable skin. 

“Oh, thank Merlin,” Draco let out a shuddering sigh. I thought you--”

Harry cut him off, kissing him fervently, snaking his around Draco’s svelte frame. He tasted salt.

“No one else,” Harry murmured into the crook of Draco’s neck,breathing him in. “I wouldn’t want to spend my life with anyone else. I’m in love with you, you ponce.” 

Draco sniffed, and if the situation had been less serious Harry would have teased him endlessly about shedding tears. But this time, Harry took a gentle hand and swiped away their stains. Draco took a shuddering breath, leaning into Harry’s touch. 

“I...I’m ashamed to admit that I am as well, petty Squib,” Draco blushed so gorgeously at that that Harry couldn’t help himself; he picked him up bridal style, long legs and all, and twirled him around awkwardly. Draco let out a shocked “eep!” only to release a string of curse words; Harry could make out “Potter what the FUCK are you doing?!”

“I’m treating you like the Prince you are.” 

“Shut it!”

Harry lowered Draco to his feet and kissed him once again, this time with more heat. “Is that any way to talk to your fiance?” Harry whispered, breath causing Draco’s feathery hair to flutter about. Draco shuddered, relaxing into Harry’s touch, saying nothing. Harry smirked against his hair, breathing in the perfumey scent of his soap. So easy to wind him up, Harry thought. 

And then Harry realized that Draco’s robes were a familiar shade of white, and suddenly he began to laugh. He laughed, and laughed, eyes clouded with tears, and when he took in the appalled look on Draco’s face, he only laughed harder. 

“What--What is the matter with you?!”

Harry’s guffawing tapered off as he wiped a tear away from his cheek. “It’s--” He began stopping to catch his breath. “You were wearing these exact robes, with this exact hairstyle, when I first met you. And the first thing I thought was, what a stuck up prick.”

Draco’s mouth opened and then closed. He raised a finger, almost as if he was about to scold Harry, but settled for crossing his arms instead. “I presume you’ve changed your mind about me?”

“Hmm…” Harry began, barking out another laugh at Draco’s horrified expression. “Kidding, kidding. Of course I have.”

Harry placed his hands on Draco’s cheeks, pulling him in once again, and for the first time in his entire miserable existence, he was home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we are, everyone, the final chapter of the main story!!! I can't believe it is (almost) done!  
> There's going to be an epilogue chapter coming by the end of the week, so stay tuned. I hope you guys enjoyed this ending.  
> And yes, there will be porn in the epilogue ;)


	10. Chapter X, Epilogue: Ten Years Later

Harry woke up slowly, peacefully, with sunlight streaming through the shutters and warming the bare skin of his chest. He stretched and sighed contentedly, reaching for the warm body that was almost always beside him, only to find nothing. Harry rubbed his eyes, suddenly not so keen on waking up. As sappy as it was, his husband’s morning kiss was the only thing that could inspire him to get out of bed in the mornings as of late. That, and his absence. So, Harry begrudgingly yanked off his covers and stepped onto the cold marble floor of the Royal Bedroom, yawning as he did so. He inwardly thanked Merlin that it was spring; he would never have been able to survive the walk to the kitchen otherwise. Harry found that after being spoiled in the warm castle for ten years, he was no longer immune to the cold like he had been when living in Dursley Hell. 

“Babe?” Harry croaked while trying and failing to smooth down his hair. “Draco?”

When there was no reply, Harry ventured into the kitchen. Any anxiety he felt on behalf of his missing husband faded when he was greeted by the beautiful sight of Draco with a tiny boy on his shoulders, baking something over the fire. 

“Dad!” The tiny boy called, climbing down Draco’s slim body like a monkey. 

“Scorpius! That’s right, you don’t have tutoring this morning!” Harry grinned, taking his son into his arms. He was so tiny, so breakable; at age three, Scorpius was much smaller than most toddlers his age. “How are my favorite boys this morning?” Scorpius squealed when Harry kissed him on the cheek, and Harry’s heart swelled. Draco rolled his eyes, repressing a grin. 

“Someone must’ve had a good night’s rest,” He mumbled, cracking an egg into a stone bowl. Harry noticed that Draco’s satin blue apron did wonders for his figure. His hair was mused from sleep, sticking up this way and that, and he looked impossibly gorgeous. 

Harry smirked knowingly, and winked. “I sure did. I had some help getting to bed, though.” 

Draco scoffed, crossing his arms. “Our son is here, you idiot. Don’t say things like that in front of him.” 

“Say what?” Harry said slyly. 

“Did Dadda read you a story?” Scorpius asked, green eyes huge and naive. Harry nodded, ruffling his hair. 

“Yes! A great story.”

“Christ,” Draco said, scrubbing his hand over his face. “What’s gotten you in such a spectacular mood this early?” 

“Dunno. Guess I just feel really lucky.”

“Give me a break,” Draco said, although his folded posture had opened up at Harry’s words. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

“I do, actually. My husband is pretty uptight, so I suppose I should be getting home soon.”

“Why did I marry an imbecile?” Draco asked the sky, exasperated. Scorpius glared at him, tilting his pointed face upwards at his other father. 

“Don’t say that to Dad, Dadda! Be nice!” Scorpius' voice was small, but stern. At the tender age of three, Scorpius was already becoming a carbon copy of Draco, who allowed himself to smile this time. It was bloody contagious; soon the three of them were giggling like fools. Draco scooped Scorpius up, and he screeched in delight. “My little Prince,” Draco hummed, squishing his son's chubby cheek. “What do you want for your fourth birthday? A house? A stallion? A--”

“Please stop corrupting our child. I don’t want him turning out as spoiled as you are.” 

Draco glared at Harry, but without malice; their friendly tormenting of one another hadn’t ceased in the ten years of their marriage. 

“Now,” Harry said, possessively taking Scorpius from Draco’s arms. “What would you really like, sweetheart?”

Scorpius practically vibrated out of Harry’s arms, wiggling around in excitement. “I want circle glasses like Dad!”

Draco raised his eyebrows. “Scorpius, darling, you can have anything you like, you know.”

Scorpius stuck his tongue out at Draco and Harry smirked. One point for him. “I think that’s great, Little Bug. I think we can manage that, can’t we darling?”

Draco grumbled. “You could buy another pair, you know. A better pair. You know, one that actually suits your face.”

“Shut it, they suit my face just fine. And they’ll suit Scorpius’ too,” Harry said, hand on his hip. By now, Scorpius had run off and was bouncing around the living room, giggling and screaming a lullaby about Babbity Rabbity. 

“Of course they will,” Draco snapped. “He inherited my looks.” 

“Yeah, but he’s got my eyes,” Harry said, taking a few steps over to Draco and embracing him. He placed a warm hand on Draco’s neck and pulled him in for a kiss, soft and sweet. “I love you, you know.” 

Draco sighed against Harry’s lips; shivering slightly when Harry wrapped his arm around his waist and pulled him in closer. “I love you, too.” 

Scorpio chose that moment to re-enter the kitchen and attach himself to his parents’ legs, squealing in delight. Harry laughed, removing himself from Draco, and pat his son on the head. 

Just then, there was a gentle knock on their bedroom entrance. Draco sauntered over and opened it, revealing a smiling Narcissa. 

“Hello, Mother,” Draco said, embracing her and kissing her on the cheek. She wore flowing, black velvet robes and her white and black hair was laced with light streaks of grey. Her lips were painted a dark shade of rouge. 

“Hello, my lovely Kings,” She said sweetly, heels clicking as she walked towards harry and kissed him as well. “How are we?” 

Scorpius ran to her, delighted, and hugged her as hard as his tiny body could allow. “Gramma! Gramma! Gramma Nasissa!” He said, still unable to pronounce the Late Queen’s name properly. 

“My dear boy,” Narcissa said, kissing the top of his head. “How I’ve missed you.” She had been on a diplomatic trip to the American Wizarding Colony, and had only just returned after two weeks. 

“How was your trip, Your Highness?” Harry asked politely, kissing her hand. 

“Oh, you know you don’t need to call me that anymore. You’re our second King!,” She replied, blushing at Harry’s gentlemanly act. “It went well. Those Americans, they can be tough, but I think I got through to them somewhat. The decision, now, is left to you two.” 

Harry scarcely remembered what decision she was referring to; something involving trade, perhaps? 

“We’ll see to it, Mother,” Draco said with a respectful nod. 

“Oh, how proud your father would have been to see you now,” She whispered fondly, placing a weathered but graceful hand over her heart. “Such capable Kings.” 

“Thank you,” Harry said politely. “I’d like to think so.” 

Strangely enough, before Lucius died he and Harry had become almost friendly. Initially, Harry had had trouble looking past Lucius’ bigoted nature and controlling demeanor, but after many awkward conversations over tea Harry had realized that really, he was just a very powerful man with a very large inferiority complex. As such, Harry had put in minimal effort to get to know him, for Draco’s sake; and the two got along surprisingly well. The Late King had passed two months ago from a nasty plague; Harry still vividly remembered holding Draco as he cried, kissing the tears away and assuring him of his father’s love. 

“Why have you come, Mother? It’s a pleasure, of course, but is there anything you need?” 

Narcissa put her nose in the air in a gesture of mock-offense. “Are you implying that I can’t visit my son and his wonderful husband when I please?”

Draco colored, and Harry almost laughed out loud at how seriously he’d taken her. Harry had always admired how much respect Draco had for his mother. “No, no, of course not, I was just--”

Narcissa laughed; a strong, sharp sound. “I’m only teasing, my dear,” She gestured to Scorpio, who was still clinging to her leg. “I’ve come to see my beautiful grandson. Do you two have anywhere to be? I would love to take him for a walk in the gardens, if you’d allow it.” 

“Of course we’d allow it,” Harry said fondly as Scorpius yelled ‘YAY!’ at the mere suggestion. “He loves you, Narcissa. Really, he does.” 

“I love you Gramma! Love you! Love love love gramma!” Scorpius cooed. 

Draco nodded in agreement. “Seems as though Harry’s right for once.” 

“You two,” Narcissa shook her head. “You speak to each other with such malice. If I didn’t know better, I’d assume that this was a loveless marriage.” 

Harry barked out a laugh when the color drained from Draco's face. “I love your son more than words can express.” 

“Shut up, you sap!” 

Narcissa smiled, taking Scorpius’ hand and leading him towards the door. “Enjoy your time with Harry, my dear,” She said to Draco before making a swift exit. Harry caught a whiff of her sweet perfume. 

“Well,” Harry said with a smirk. “We’ve the house to ourselves, now.” 

Draco raised his eyebrows. “Yes, I suppose we do, don’t we?” 

Harry was on Draco in an instant, dipping him rather dramatically and capturing his lips. Draco rolled his eyes but went along with Harry’s display of grandeur. We’ve been together for over ten years, Harry thought as he snaked a hand under Draco’s pajama shirt, and our sex life is still bloody incredible.  
“What are you smirking about?” Draco said breathily as Harry began trailing kisses down his neck. 

“Oh, you know,” Harry mumbled, taking in the clean scent of Draco’s soap. “I’m just thinking about how much you love it when I fuck you, even after all this time.”

“And…” Draco gasped as Harry sucked a mark upon his collar bone. “You call me a narcissist?” 

Harry said nothing, pressing his lips against his husband’s once again, backing him into the wall. Draco groaned, pulling eagerly at Harry’s hips. Harry swiped his tongue over Draco’s plush bottom lip, and then took it between his teeth and bit down gently. Draco shivered all over; Harry could feel him getting hard against his thigh.

“What’ll it be this time?” Harry said softly, gently. He did this just to annoy Draco, piss him off; Draco wanted, no, needed, Harry to be rough with him almost always. “Should I take it slow?”

“Fuck you,” Draco hissed as Harry pretended to gently caress his hair, only to pull. “You know very well what I want you to do.” 

Harry smirked, eyes darkening. “You’re right. I do know. But I want you to ask me for it.” 

Draco’s face colored. Harry never got sick of this, never got tired of making Draco blush and squirm under his gaze. “N-No!” 

“No?” Harry removed himself from Draco, devilishly slow, and crossed his arms over his chest. Despite their similar height, Draco looked so small, vulnerable and turned on all at once and Harry suddenly wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep playing this game. “Alright then.”

“You--” Draco began, eyes widening when Harry removed his own shirt with a swift flick of his wand. “Get on with it!” 

“Get on with what?” Harry said, feigning naivety despite the aching between his legs. 

“Fuck me. Do whatever...whatever you want with me. It’s...you haven’t been able to for a while and I...I need you to--” Draco’s sentence was cut off by Harry’s lips once again; he ground into Draco with such force that the two of them nearly toppled over. Draco, lost in the new friction, did not seem to notice. Harry, on the other hand, held him up with strong arms. He parted with Draco with the intention of undoing the top two buttons of his shirt, only to give up and decide to use magic to remove their clothes immediately. Sometimes Harry enjoyed the show, enjoyed taking Draco apart piece by piece. Sometimes, Harry would fuck Draco nice and slow until he was practically crying from sheer need; but today, he didn’t feel like waiting. 

With a tactile movement of his fingers both of their clothes were gone, neatly folded across the room, and Harry grinned. He still hadn’t gotten used to the many perks that came with being someone who could utilize their magic. 

Harry picked Draco up as easy as anything and practically tossed him onto the bed. Draco looked up at him, eyes huge and heated, chest heaving. 

“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” Harry mumbled, taking his husband in. Draco flushed further, all the way down to his chest. Harry trailed kisses down the entirety of that flush. If they had more time, he would’ve made Draco beg for it. 

Draco’s legs were spread lewdly, and Harry groaned at the sight. “You’re always so pretty for me, aren’t you?” 

Draco nodded, cheeks pink, and chewed on his bottom lip. “Only for you.” 

Fuck. Draco sure knew how to get Harry going. 

Harry conjured up some lube and quickly inserted a finger into Draco, who moaned obscenely at the intrusion. He never seemed to be in pain, no matter how quickly Harry went; that, or he just didn’t mind it. After fingerfucking him shallowly for a few moments, Draco lost his will and began begging, chanting Harry’s name and pushing himself onto Harry’s finger. 

“More,” He panted, wriggling his hips. “Please.”

Harry swallowed thickly; it’d been so long since they’d had enough alone time to do this, and he felt just as desperate as Draco was acting. Without any gentleness, Harry shoved two more fingers into Draco, who took them like a chant. He whimpered, pushing his hips up. 

“Need...I need you to…” Draco trailed off; he seemed to be incapable of forming coherent sentences at the moment. 

“I’ll take care of you,” Harry whispered into Draco’s ear. The blond man shivered, clinging to Harry for dear life, as Harry lined himself up with his entrance. He pushed the tip in, growling at the softness of Draco’s body around him. Harry sighed, fighting back the urge to thrust into Draco all at once. 

“You’re not going to break me, Potter, s-so hurry it up!” 

Harry grinned slyly; Draco would sometimes slip back into his petty “Potter” stage when he was frustrated; sex was no exception. And if Harry liked it, well, no one would ever have to know. 

“Bossy,” Harry murmured against Draco’s lips, pushing into him nice and slow. Draco threw his head back in pleasure, mumbling out a “thank God” as Harry filled him up.

“Fuck,” Harry cursed. “Feel so good, Draco.” 

Draco could only look Harry in the eye for a short moment before embarrassment made him look away. After all these years, Draco would still feel embarrassed over how eager he always was.

Harry pulled out for a moment, only to thrust back in with more force. Draco cried out, biting his own fist, and Harry grinned as a bead of sweat dripped down his forehead. 

“You don’t have to be quiet, you know. No one can hear us.” 

Draco opened his mouth as if to reply, but Harry pound into him once again and whatever he had to say died in his throat. 

Draco clung to him, body taut with pleasure, as Harry continued fucking into him with increasing speed. Draco was making obscene noises with every thrust, pushing back against Harry with ridiculous enthusiasm. 

“You’re so fucking hot,” Harry said, voice hoarse. Draco was chanting his name over and over, voice strained from begging to be fucked harder. Harry obliged, and soon he was past the point of rational thought. Draco seemed to be as well, mumbling gibberish into the crook of Harry’s neck. 

“I’m...fuck,” Draco whimpered pathetically. A sharp wave of arousal shot through Harry’s body at Draco’s admission; he didn’t even need to touch his cock, just being inside him was enough. That very thought pushed over the edge, Harry thrust into Draco one more time, and then he was coming; entire body tensing with pure pleasure. Draco was not far behind, screaming Harry’s name. 

Harry kissed Draco once more, sloppy and sated, and lay down next to him. He flung his arm across Draco, who cleaned them up with a quick flick of his wand and a mumbled spell. 

As they lay there in a post-orgasmic haze, comfortable and content, Draco whispered: 

“I still have your shoe, you know. From the ball.”

“What?” Harry asked with a breathy laugh. “Do you really?You mean you’ve kept it all this time and never told me?”

“I-Yes. I couldn’t seem to...I couldn’t seem to let myself dispose of it. Would you like it back?”

Harry snorted, waving a dismissive hand. “That old thing? Of course not,” Harry’s eyes widened as he took in what he’d just said. “Oh, God, I even sound like one of you royal arseholes now.” 

Draco laughed, and Harry’s heart fluttered just as rapidly as when the two had shared their first kiss by the river. “You are a royal arsehole. But you do have me as your husband. So stop complaining.” 

“Never,” Harry said with a smile, chest warm with an everlasting fondness for his fellow King.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's it. It's done. To be honest, I'm really really emotional about this! I worked so hard on this fic for so long, and I got so invested in it. I'm sad that it's over now. Please please leave a comment if you enjoyed this, it means so much to me.  
> Thank you for sticking with us during this entire journey. I put my heart into this fic so I hope it could make some of you smile. AAAAhh I'm gonna cry as I type this, I can't believe it's done after all this time!  
> T H A N K Y O U ! ! ! !  
> Love, Kaitlyn aka femmefatales  
> PS: what pairings would you like to see from me? I'm planning on writing another 30kish fic. Also, I am ALWAYS looking for fic requests!! Any pairing, go ahead and try me!  
> By the way, if you're wondering how Harry and Draco had a child, let's just say some magic was involved. ;)


End file.
